


The Case of the Cintimani Stone: A Hammer Mystery

by KilroyHiggins



Series: Hammer Mysteries [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Detective Noir, Film Noir, Gen, Hammer Mystery, Investigations, Mystery, Private Investigators, Ravenclaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 75,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilroyHiggins/pseuds/KilroyHiggins
Summary: Petunia married a Scotland Yard detective named Grant Mason and Harry's grown up obsessed with Film Noir and being a Detective. He's Harry 'The Hammer' Potter-Mason and he's out for the truth behind his parents' murder.
Series: Hammer Mysteries [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081055
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

“-because of that, the West Yorkshire Police Service were widely criticised for their handling of the reports in the ripper case.” The television was playing a recorded news report off a Betamax player. It was an old, grisly murder case and was the perfect case study for cultural impact.

“See, Harry? This is why you’ve always got to have your evidence in order and ready to analyze. I was just getting into my patrol work at the Met back then, but you couldn’t help but hear of it.” Grant Mason placed a hand on his son’s head and ruffled his already messy hair.

Harry struggled to continue taking notes under his adoptive father’s hand, underlining his script to emphasize the necessity of organisation.

“Grant, Harry, dinner’s ready!” Petunia Mason (née Evans) called from downstairs.

“Your mother called, aren’t you going to answer?” Harry pouted a response down at his notes as he continued to scribble.

“‘Tunia, sweetheart, I think he wants you to call him by his nickname!” Grant called back down, standing up from the carpeted floor next to his son.

“Hammer! Come down to dinner before it gets cold!”

Harry perked up instantly, bottle green eyes flitting up to see that his father was still in the room with him. The man had a broad smile on his face, five o’clock shadow broken up by the glow of its half moon.

“It’s not funny, dad! I like that nickname.” They left the home office together. 

Petunia welcomed her husband back downstairs with a peck on the cheek before placing both hands on Harry’s shoulders and urging him to go wash up before sitting down to eat.

Dinner was a lovely little affair, lively talk about what Harry was looking forward to now that he was done with primary school. Aside from wanting to learn more about how to get into the Met like his dad, Harry didn’t care which schools he went to. What he did care about, however, was that his 11th birthday was fast approaching.

“Dad, since I was going to be 11 soon…” Harry trailed off.

“Yes, Harry, what is it?”

“I was wondering if you could take me to the Crime Museum at the Yard.” Harry let go of his silverware and immediately followed his statement with wild gesticulations, knowing there would be resistance, “I know it’s normally only open to police officers and detectives,” He said the last word with an emphasis of reverence for his father’s work, “but I was wondering if you could bring me there as a special guest! You could tell them all about how I want to be a police detective when I grow up! Or even how we go over old public case files and you’ve been teaching me all about the method!”

Grant burst out laughing, not malicious laughter but the kind of fatherly amusement that comes from having your child spill out something completely unexpected.

“I’m glad you already know the rules. I’m not sure that I’ll be able to get you in, but I’ll ask… if your mother says it’ll be alright.”

Petunia sighed, brushing a lock of perfectly coiffed blonde hair behind her ear, “I just worry, Harry. You’re too young to be chasing monsters. Why can’t you be a little more…”

“Normal, mum? But this is normal. I want to be a Detective when I grow up!” As far as she could tell, this wasn’t just a phase. He had caught a Bogart film on TV once and hadn’t let up since. The neighbor, Mrs. Figg had even paid him when he went out of his way to track down her missing cat.

She acquiesced, “Fine, I suppose boys will be boys. But finish your vegetables or else your father won’t even entertain the thought.”

Harry made a face before beginning to make progress into the peas.

After dinner, Harry went back up to his room - a comfortable space where the walls were lined with the greats: a few movie posters for  _ The Maltese Falcon _ ,  _ The Big Sleep _ , and  _ Tokyo Joe _ \- he was a fan of Bogart, so sue him - and dominating one of the walls was his case analysis of his own history. Before his aunt Petunia and her husband Grant had taken him in he had been just Harry James Potter, but now he was Harry James Potter-Mason and had more than one big mystery to solve in his life.

Harry took a child sized fedora off the rack next to his door and put it on, pinching the rim and adjusting it after sitting down in his chair, swivelling to look at the wall. In the center was a photo of his birth parents Petunia had given him - James and Lily Potter, a happy young couple captured in a moment that seemed like it wanted to come to life. Out from there it was traced by lines of red yarn held up by push pins, colour coded between his father and mother, the only major pieces being their separate obituaries documenting a mysterious house fire. For all of his ten and nine-tenths years on Earth, Harry didn’t believe it. He had spent more time than he cared to recall in various libraries trying to find out more, but in the end the mundanity of bad luck still bothered him.

The sound of hard knocking on the glass like gunfire startled him out of his chair, knocking him to the floor. There was something pecking at his window. He lifted the fedora up and saw from his position on the ground that an owl had landed on the sill and was pecking at the glass to call his attention.

“What the -?” Harry stood up and walked over to the window, waving his hands in a shooing motion. The owl stayed and knocked on his window again twice, rather politely. At a loss for what to do, Harry unlocked it and slid the window open a crack. The owl hooted something he took as frustration before sliding a letter through the opening. It was an envelope made of old fashioned parchment, addressed to “Harry James Potter-Mason” and the correct address of his home in London. With shaking hands, he picked up the envelope and turned it over to reveal a wax seal for somewhere he had never heard of.

“Mum! Dad!”


	2. Chapter 2

Grant had burst into the room ready to fight something but relaxed almost immediately when he saw his son standing there with the letter, his outlook switching to confusion as his wife showed up, saw the envelope and burst into tears.

Grant took the letter from Harry and led his sobbing wife back downstairs and eased her onto the couch. Harry followed numbly and took a seat next to her, more confused by his adoptive mother than the letter. She looked up for a moment and locked eyes with Harry before redoubling her sobs. Grant put the kettle on.

Harry picked the letter up from the end table and broke the wax seal cleanly down the middle, pulling out the letter inside.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

\---

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

  
Harry had more questions than answers - starting with the owl. Who trains owls as delivery birds? After that was everything else. Wizards? Witches? Mugwumps? He started to take notes on it. Harry wrote down the two names from the letter into his pocket notebook and began to pace the living room floor. It had jarred something out of place for him - reawoken a desire to know that he had been letting slumber under the guise of normalcy.

Grant appeared from the kitchen with a tray of 3 mugs of tea, while Harry scanned the letter for the eighth time.

“Here, take yours and let me see.” He offered up Harry’s usual mug. Harry accepted, picking up the mug with the quiver of excitement in his hands as he watched Petunia take hers with shaking hands still overwhelmed by the sudden changes.

“Well - it seems like a fantastically done movie prop.” Grant spoke after reviewing the letter and sipping his tea. “But I don’t understand why this is so shocking.” Harry explained how he had gotten the letter. They both looked to Petunia.

“It’s true.” Petunia began, dabbing a kleenex at her eyes to stem the tears, “the whole lot. Magic. Witches. Everything. Harry’s parents - my sister - they were a witch and a wizard.” Grant had the most worried look on his face that conveyed all the doubts he had, but Harry had nothing but questions,

“Are you a… witch? Could grandma and grandad do magic? Where is this school? Is this like that series with Liz Montgomery? Do you know how to train owls?”

Petunia sniffed and blew her nose noisily into the tissue. It was easy to be proud of someone who was so intent on learning the truth. Harry was pacing again, his chin in his hand as he strode the floor thinking about the implication of what she was saying.

“So, mum, you’re saying that magic is real. Not just Houdini and sleight of hand but like… Merlin.” Who, coincidentally enough was in the letter.

“Yes.”

“And my… and Lily was a witch. That James Potter was a wizard.”

“Yes.”

“How in the name of hair metal and Maggie Thatcher am I supposed to prove that?”

A look of confusion crept over Petunia’s face, she wrung the tissue uncertainly like an ingenue caught in her first lie. “Lily had her own owl. I guess it was magic.”

“So the owls are magic too?” Harry was almost too quick on the response.

“Calm down,” Grant laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder before kneeling down in front of his wife, “let her say her side of things. We’ll all be better off without subjecting your mother to an inquisition.”

Petunia took another deep breath, steeling herself, “I suppose you can write back. It’s what I did. When Lily was little and got her letter one of the staff agreed to come and prove it to us.” Her voice faltered down to a whisper, “I had hated her for that.”

“Er, Harry, take the letter and go to your room and write a polite response asking for proof. I think your mother and I have to talk about this.”

Harry took the letter and disappeared around the corner, but took his slow, sweet time making his way up the stairs. He listened as he tiptoed,

“I didn’t want it to be this way. I didn’t used to be this… pretty, Grant.” He heard his mother’s words soft and desperate, “I begged Lily for so long and in her sixth year at that school she came back with a potion that made me look like this. You remember when that Dursley boy tried to stalk me? Oh Grant, it was awful but that potion is why we can’t-”

Harry had had enough and made his way up the stairs. These were matters well outside his jurisdiction. On the other hand inside his room, it was his space and his rules; in there, he was The Hammer. He went back into his room and got to work on the reply letter, pulling out some lined paper and an envelope he addressed to “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry / UK” and feeling like a fool when he sealed up the letter to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall inside it. Looking around his room, Harry came up with nothing better than to drag his window all the way open and begin calling for the owl that had delivered the original letter.

“Hello? Owl? Hoot? Who? I got a reply letter for Hogwarts!” Harry shouted into his backyard, feeling like an idiot. He saw the street lights shining from the next street over, families watching television in their living rooms.

“Is that you, Harry? You’ve got a letter?” He heard his neighbor’s voice, Mrs. Figg.

“Er, yeah. Always good to hear from a client. I’m trying to figure out how the cow jumped over the moon.”

“Did the owl finally deliver your Hogwarts letter? Come over Harry, we can get your reply sent!” Harry almost hit his head on the window. He turned around and picked up his hat from the bed and grabbed the trench coat from the rack. He sped his way down the stairs, hopping three steps at a time and yelling “Just popping over next door to Mrs. Figg! Back soon!” And was out the door before either of his parents could stop him.

By the time he reached Mrs. Figg’s front door, she was already there waiting for him.

“Hello, Harry,” She extended her hand for the letter and he obliged, “Of all the things - telling you to reply by owl when they know right out that you don’t have one. What were they thinking?”

“Er, Mrs. Figg, what do you know about all this?” He hesitated when she grasped his return post, “I’m sorry if I seem a little hesitant.”

“Dear, I’m sure whoever they send will be more than happy to answer your questions. Just let this old woman help you and maintain just a drop of mystery.” She said with a wink before taking the letter and wishing Harry a good night.

Harry turned around and made the walk back home slow and deliberate. He felt like he was going into shock for the second time in one night. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, he was ecstatic. Back at home his parents questions washed over him like water off a duck’s back - he told them that he needed time to digest before the wrongness in the air kicked his brain back into observation mode. His mother had cried more while he was gone as evidenced by the movement of the litter bin next to the sofa and his father’s expression told a none too happy story about something. They were adult problems, and with the end of this night, they were his problems.

The Hammer trudged his way up the stairs and grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and a marker. He wrote the word “MAGIC?” and circled it for emphasis before pinning it underneath the photo of his biological parents before flopping down onto the bed and passing out.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning came tense and pregnant with the events of the night before - Harry had woken up later than usual still wearing the trench coat. Once he was ready to face his uncertain day, he walked downstairs and found his parents tense, but cordial.

“So what is it you two talked about while I was gone?” He went in for the direct approach while eating his brunch. Petunia looked at Grant and they both broke eye contact soon enough for Harry to read the room. They weren’t the only frustrated ones here. He drank his orange juice in a large gulp and slammed the glass back down onto the table - startling both his parents.

“Harry. Getting mad won’t solve anything.” Grant toed the line he was supposed to, but his inability to look Petunia in the eye gave away the game.

Harry excused himself and began to walk toward the living room when their doorbell rang. He went to the front door and moved the step stool in front of it with his foot to use their peep hole.

“Uh - dad?” The anger from moments before was replaced with confusion. A cat had rang the doorbell. A silver tabby cat was pacing right outside their door, pausing occasionally to paw at the material and knock impatiently on the wood with a precision that had to be intentional. Grant walked over and lifted Harry off the stool before looking through himself and nudging the stepstool aside. Harry opened the door a peek after getting a small nod from Grant - their combined curiosity winning over trying to ignore the whole thing and going on with their day. The cat darted inside immediately as the door was open wide enough to allow its passage, running between Grant’s legs and into the living room.

“Oy!” Grant yelled at the cat and turned around to run after it. Harry closed the door and locked it behind him before going after them both.

The cat had taken itself a spot on their loveseat, pacing about in a circle like it owned the place - Petunia walked in to investigate the commotion and made eye contact with the cat.

“Did we invite this cat in?” She asked the two boys.

“It just bolted in here when Harry-”

In the next moment there was an elderly witch sitting in their loveseat holding a walking stick.

“Oywhatinthe-” Grant recoiled, looking like he was trying to decide between a fighting stance and running for his life. Harry gaped. The cat had turned into a woman. A rather dignified looking one at that. A beat later Petunia screamed, the high pitched cry punctuated with the breaking of the plate she had been holding like the exclamation point at the end of a sentence.

“Is this sufficient proof in the veracity of magic, Mr. Mason?” The woman asked, eyes twinkling beneath her pointed witch’s hat. She stood without the assistance of her walking stick and extended a hand to Grant, “Apologies for the rather sudden intrusion - I find something to shake Muggle parents’ preconceptions is usually the easiest solution. I am Minerva McGonogall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” It just hit Harry how polite and Scottish her accent was.

Grant shook her hand, clearing his throat, “Grant Mason. What was that you called us? Muggles?”

“Ah yes, it’s the term we used to refer to the non-magical population. Petunia, it’s lovely to see you again. I’m so sorry about giving you such a fright.” McGonagall shook her hand gently before pulling out a small wooden rod about the size and length of a drumstick.

“Reparo!” the Scottish witch said with a wave of the stick, causing the shattered pieces of plate on the ground to pull themselves back together into a whole plate before their eyes.

It was a moment of adjustment for them, watching one magical event after another. Magic was real and people could turn into animals. Perfectly normal. Grant looked like he had developed a migraine. Wait - again?

“You two already know each other?” The question came before Harry could stop himself.

“Of course, Mr. Potter. I was here with the team that dropped you off with her the night your parents were killed.”

“Mr. Potter - no one’s called me by that name in a long, long time. Wait, what do you mean by killed? You make it sound like a murder.”

McGonagall looked between the three of them, staying her tongue for long enough that Harry was already suspicious.

“You mean you never told him what was in the letter?” McGonagall looked at Petunia.

“I wanted to protect him. Let him be a normal boy.” Petunia didn’t break eye contact.

“I was told they died in a house fire.” Harry demanded McGonagall’s attention, “Now you come waltzing into my life with trouble in your wake and magic dancing from your fingertips to tell me that I’ve been lied to this whole time?” By the end of it, Harry wasn’t looking at McGonagall, but instead the Hammer was looking at Petunia.

“A house fire wouldn’t have killed my sister.” Petunia looked at Harry with an edge of indignation.

“So it was a murder?” Grant asked.

Petunia drew in a breath and nodded the confession that flipped the Hammer’s world on end. McGonagall looked at them with a sense of conflicted pity. “Do you mind if I tell them?”

“I- yes. You’d know better than I would, wouldn’t you? You’re from her world.” Petunia wove her way around the Witch and sat down onto the couch.

McGonagall turned and knelt down, coming eye to eye with Harry, “Your parents were killed by the Dark Lord in the last Wizarding War. They were the last casualties - you killed the Dark Lord and are the only known survivor of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“I killed - “ Harry flapped his mouth a few times trying to decide on his train of thought, “I don’t know how I killed a Dark Lord but don’t pin that murder rap on me.”

The Deputy Headmistress blinked a moment before bursting out into laughter, “No, no, Harry. Your survival was a miracle, not malicious intent.”

“I don’t want to wade into where I’m not wanted, but did you say James and Lily Potter were murdered?” Grant asked.

“Quite so.”

“And they were killed by this Dark Lord? What did you say his name was?”

“I didn’t. Many in the magical community are still afraid of his name, but he called himself Voldemort.”

A silence hung in the air after the name, a dark period at the end of her sentence.

“What happened to him?” Harry asked.

“Gone.” McGonagall said.

“But is he dead?”

“I don’t like to hypothesize in such a situation - but we do know that the killing curse he attempted to use on you rebounded and left nothing but that scar.” She reached a hand out to the lightning shaped imperfection above his right eye. Harry shrank away from her fingertips.

“You’re confirming that it’s murder? This means I’ve got enough to go back to the Yard and reopen the case. I’m going to have to ask you to come in and give a statement.” Grant put a hand on his son’s shoulder and pulled him gently toward him.

“I should think not,” McGonagall told him, “The situation has long since been dealt with over a decade ago and I would like to allow you to retain the memory of this conversation.”

“Are you threatening me? You just said that Harry’s parents were murdered, as a police detective I can’t just stand by and let that go.”

“Heavens no, your dedication is admirable Mr. Mason, however having a Muggle interfere with the affairs and politics of the magical world would only put you in mortal danger.”

The Hammer grabbed onto his father’s shirt, “Forget it Dad, they’re wizards.” Grant looked down at him, the fight in his eyes softening when he saw what it meant to Harry. Petunia stood up and came over to the boy, just wanting to reach out to him.

“If he goes with you, how will I know he’s safe? How do I know that he won’t end up like Lily?” She asked.

“You have my word that no harm will come to him. Hogwarts is the largest and oldest institution in the United Kingdom for the instruction of the magical arts. If it were to come to it - and believe me it’s been over a decade - then Hogwarts would be the safest place for him to be. For one, your Muggle technologies don’t function within its walls. Beyond that, you’ve already seen what I can do without any malicious intent, but if Harry were to remain untrained it would only prove to be a danger to himself and the world at large. By all accounts, he’ll be quite a powerful wizard when given proper training.”

The family relaxed a touch; Harry subconsciously resumed his pacing in a path that went around the outer perimeter of the room.

“Are you sure it’ll be alright for him to go away to school? We did have that… incident in grammar school.” Grant asked. Harry froze.

“What would that be?” The Deputy Headmistress replied.

“That is to say, we had to withdraw Harry from regular schooling because of a small altercation he had with-” “That two bit palooka got what was coming to him. Picking on smaller kids just because his brain didn’t get a growth spurt with his body.” The Hammer told the story himself with deadly seriousness.

“You were in a fight?” McGonagall asked Harry.

“Yes. I won’t back down from that. I did the right thing and the system is rigged against it.”

McGonagall leaned onto her walking stick, “I suppose if you refrain from the use of violence as a problem solving tool then there shouldn’t be any problems at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter.”  
“No promises, but that was the idea.” his parents couldn’t stop him from speaking his mind. The Deputy Headmistress let out a sigh, “I suppose we can begin there.”

“Where am I meant to get these school supplies? I don’t know of any novelty shops that would even stock a ‘standard’ cauldron.” Harry began a line of questioning.

“I won’t be available tomorrow, but we’ll send another representative to meet you. His name is Rubeus Hagrid, gameskeeper and keeper of the keys for Hogwarts. He’ll take you to where you need to go in London. I’m afraid until you yourself are a little more experienced with the magical community of Britain I would advise against bringing your guardians along.” It seemed like a lot of responsibility for an 11 year old, but the Hammer was more than willing to bear it. The scent of a bigger mystery was more than enough motivation to sign on.

“You’ll let me go, right?” Harry looked at both of his parents.

Grant and Petunia exchanged a look. “If it’s best. What would happen if Harry didn’t get trained in whatever these powers are?”

“It varies between children, but growing wizards do exhibit… phenomena. They can be disastrous if unexpected.”

“I suppose it would be better if he were with people who understood it then.”

“Very good, I’m sure Mr. Hagrid will be delighted to see you again. He’ll be by in the morning to pick you up.”

“Will you be taking him far?’

“Oh no, not at all. This will all be in London. He’ll be well within reach all day, and he’ll be under the best of supervision.”

It wasn’t anything more than her word, but it was all they had. The adults thanked professor McGonagall and wished her well out the door - unsure if they should’ve offered her tea or catnip.

“Harry, are you sure this is what you want?” Grant asked.

“Magic is real and it killed my birth parents,” it was the most distant Grant had ever been from his adoptive son, “you might not be able to reopen the case, but I can. Even if it’s only good for revenge.”

It was moments like these that made them doubt that Harry was only ten years old sometimes - every now and again the boy would make a decision with a serious look on his face and come hell or high water he was going to follow through with his intentions.

Petunia knelt down and took Harry’s face in her hands, looking into eyes that were spot on for Lily’s, “Harry, if this gets out of hand come home. You’re the last-” She brought him into a hug, “you’re the last I have of Lily and our family. Just stay safe.” Harry returned her embrace.

Afterward, Harry returned to his room and put the hat back on: the Hammer had more to think about. With a sharpie he wrote the word  MURDER onto the central sheet and sat down into his chair. Everything he knew, everything he had seen and been taught was wrong. Magic had been the reason his parents were dead, and somebody with the stones to call himself the “Dark Lord Voldemort” was responsible. The Hammer took down the obits from the… muggle... newspapers. It was misdirection now and the only place he could find more clues would be on the wizarding side of things.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning the Hammer was up bright and early even though he barely managed to contain himself to fall asleep the night before. He found that Grant had beat him to the punch and seemed to have already been awake for hours and was already halfway through a pot of coffee when he came into the kitchen.

“‘Morning Harry.”

“‘Morning Dad.” He went to the fridge and poured himself a glass of juice before sitting down at the table opposite his adoptive father. They stared into their drinks in silence a while before Grant broke the quiet,

“I still don’t like this whole situation, but it doesn’t look like I’ll have much say in the end.”

“I know.” Harry took a drink of juice.

“I just wanted what was best, and I wanted to be a responsible detective and father to you.”

“I know - but this one is mine. She turned into a cat and said it was child’s play.”

“I know.” Grant left it here.

Sometime later, Petunia came downstairs, glowing and perfect as always. The Hammer had to squint and think about what he had heard - whatever his suspicions, those could wait until after he had seen magic for himself as a whole.

The family’s morning routine held out, representing a sense of normalcy that the two older Masons wanted to savor while they still had their son with them. The Hammer, in the meanwhile, waited impatiently with a mug of hot chocolate, tapping his foot against the ground barely able to contain his excitement.

There was a boom like the thunder rolling from a nearby lightning strike that came from their front door. Everyone inside froze,

“Oh, I should’n’a done that.”

A moment later, a smaller set of knocks came on the door, still shaking it in its mount, but sounding positively dainty in comparison to the earthquake from earlier.

Harry was up in a flash to answer the door. What he saw through the peephole was a large red workman’s shirt framed by the edges of a brown coat. Harry swung open the door.

“If it innt Harry! By Merlin, las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby,” the giant man that had knocked on the door opened with a lot more glee than Harry had been expecting, staring up at a face that had almost successfully hidden itself under a long shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, “Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got yer mum’s eyes.”

Harry just stared. The man was the biggest he had ever seen - the top of his head was somewhere up above the door frame and his width made it seem like it would take effort for him to fit into a regularly sized doorway. The giant broke eye contact with Harry briefly before speaking,

“Ah, where are me manners? I’m Rubeus Hagrid, the one Professor McGonagall told yeh about. Just call me Hagrid, everyone does.”

He extended a hand that felt like it was the size of a frying pan to shake Harry’s, his own getting lost inside of its firm grip.

“And a pleasure to meet yeh, Mr. Mason. Petunia, wonderful to see you again.” Harry realized his parents had walked up behind him.

“Would you like to come in? We’ve just put a fresh kettle on.” Petunia asked him.

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m afraid we’re on a bit of a schedule today - after all it’s Harry's first time preparing for Hogwarts.”

Harry was way ahead of him, “I’ll get my hat and coat.” He said and dashed away.

“Where are you going to be taking him?” Grant asked.

“Not far t’all,” Hagrid leaned in close and began speaking at what passed as quietly for him, “Just popping over to some shops near Charing Cross, wizards and the like only I’m afraid. Though once Harry’s a bit older I’m sure yeh might be able to come along as his guests.”

Not long after, Harry reappeared sporting his trench coat with fedora in hand, having already checked his pockets for keys, wallet, pen, and notepad. He wasn’t allowed to carry a weapon yet, but for everything he had been taught a detective’s best tools all lived between their ears. Petunia stopped him before he could get out the door and proceeded with overbearing motherly ministrations - even more than Harry was used to.

“Mum, mum! I’ll be back later today. It’s not like he’s whisking me off to Narnia!” Harry grabbed onto his mother’s hands just as she planted a kiss on his forehead. A great sob came from Hagrid.

“No, no, don’t mind me, I’m just glad he’s been so loved since we dropped him off with yeh. I had me doubts but I’ve never been more glad to be wrong.” He blew his nose on a handkerchief that came from his pocket - to Harry it was perfectly scaled to the man, but for anyone else it would’ve been a tarpaulin. The Hammer had concluded that despite his size, Hagrid was just a big softie.

Grant knelt down to give Harry a hug and ruffle his already messy hair before sending him on his way. “Hopefully the Hammer doesn’t burn down the place before you can even start school.”

Harry donned his Stetson and stepped out the door with Hagrid, following him down the stairs and out to the sidewalk.

“Just to pose the question, Hagrid, how am I meant to pay for my school supplies? My parents gave me-”

“Don’t worry about that,” Hagrid replied, “D’yeh think yer parents didn’t leave yeh anything?”

“Birth parents? I’ve got two people I call Mum and Dad at home. That and I thought their house was destroyed.”

“Oh aye, sorry about that, but James and Lily were good friends a mine. Though from what I saw, Petunia’s really grown a new leaf with that Grant fella. But yeh didn’t think yer parents would keep all their gold in their house, would yeh? Nah, first step fer us is Gringotts. Wizard’s bank.”

“Wizards have banks?”

“Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins.”

“Goblins?”

“Yeah - so yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it, I’ll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe - ‘cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o’ fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business.” Hagrid drew himself up proudly, “He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin’ you - gettin’ things from Gringotts - knows he can trust me, see. But I got me own question for yeh Harry.”

Harry pushed up the brim on his hat so he could look up at Hagrid, “Yeah, what’s that?”

“What was it yer dah called yeh? The Hammer?”

“Yeah, it’s my nickname.”

“Oh? Harry ‘The Hammer’ Potter, it’s got a nice ring to it.”

“Then you can call me Hammer.”

“Reckon’ I will if I can remember.”

“Hagrid, did you say my parents had gold?”

Hagrid talked his ear off about the layman’s view of Wizard economics until they got to the Underground. It was riveting to hear about secret vaults and Dragons guarding untold riches being middle managed by Goblins - who through careful questioning Harry learned were a distinct race rather than a nasty insult. Harry felt like he had needed to bring a shovel to get through what he learned about some kind of ‘Ministry of Magic’ that existed solely to preserve magic as a secret.

Even though Hagrid seemed to know what he was doing, he didn’t seem used to doing it the ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow, which would’ve allowed them to fit right in on the underground.

“Well, this is how everyone does it, Hagrid.”

“If we hadn’t been so close I woulda just had us fly.”

Harry pulled out his notebook while they waited for the train to arrive, reviewing the list he had copied down into it:

  1. 3 sets of plain work robes
  2. 1 plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
  3. One pair protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
  4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) -- Name tags!
  5. Books
    1. Standard book of Spells (grade 1) - Miranda Goshawk
    2. A History of Magic - Bathilda Bagshot
    3. Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
    4. A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
    5. One thousand magical Herbs and fungi by Phylida Spore
    6. Magical Drafts and Potions - Arsenius Jigger
    7. Fantastic Beasts and where to find them - Newt Scamander
    8. The Dark Forces: A guide to self-protection by Quentin Trimble
  6. 1 Wand
  7. 1 Cauldron (Pewter, standard size 2)
  8. 1 set glass or crystal phials
  9. 1 telescope
  10. 1 set brass scales



\-- No brooms

There had been a note about bringing a pet of some variety, but the Hammer never had time in his life for one. That and his neighborhood didn’t permit one. What he did know was that he was going to have a lot of reading to do before the September term started - he was already in the hole having been raised by Muggles. From all the titles, there might be decent reference material available on the magical side of things to find out more details about his parents.

Making their way up to Charing Cross came easily - Hagrid was large enough and intimidating enough to part the crowds like a cutter through the waves. Harry stuck close and followed in his wake, looking from side to side at familiar shoppes lined with books, others selling music, and the occasional restaurant and cinema. As far as Harry was concerned, he had been here a few times before with Petunia and Grant and hadn’t seen a single store outlandish enough to sell dragon skin gloves.

Hagrid came to an abrupt stop in front of a dilapidated old building, causing Harry to run into his leg. The larger man put a hand on Harry’s back to keep him from stumbling and pointed up at the sign, “This is it, Hammer. The Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place.”

If it hadn’t been pointed out to him, Harry wouldn’t have noticed it was there. It was the kind of place Grant talked about his suspects hanging out in, grubby looking and little more than a hole in the wall. If it wasn’t for the fact that there were wizards inside, the Hammer would bet that there’d be at least a few people peddling tainted Class A or maybe even an old firearm or two. He saw some other people walk right by it, their eyes sliding cleanly from the bookshop on one side to the record store on the other like it wasn’t even there. Before he could formulate a question, Hagrid ushered him inside.

The inside was exactly like the Hammer expected it to be, the layer of purposeful grime covering the outside seemed to even extend to its patrons. The Hammer took note of a few old women sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry, one of them puffing away on a churchwarden pipe. A little man wearing a top hat and dressed like Victoria was still the Queen was talking to the old barman, whose baldness only served to enhance his ugliness. Hammer had seen police lineup shots of habitual drug users and felons but couldn’t quite recall anyone looking quite like a gummy walnut. Harry took off his hat as he walked in the door, the low buzz of chatter coming to a halt at Hagrid’s arrival. He seemed to be a chummy regular, waving his hellos and greeting the barkeep. “The usual, Hagrid?”

“Can’t Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business,” Hagrid clapped a big mitt on Harry’s shoulder, threatening to buckle his knees.

“Good Lord,” said the barman, peering at Harry who had been caught with one hand adjusting his hair over his right eye, “is this - can it be-?”

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. Harry put his hat back on and darted his eyes about the room - he wasn’t used to the spotlight.

“Bless my soul,” whispered the old barman, “Harry Potter… what an honour.”

The great gummy walnut of a man rushed out from behind his bar and toward Harry, seizing his hand with tears in his eyes,

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back.” Harry was stunned speechless - wondering how many new sycophants would come crawling out of the woodwork alongside actual, grateful supporters. The old woman with the pipe kept on puffing without realising it had gone out. The Hammer felt everyone’s gaze boring into him. Hagrid was beaming.

There was a great commotion filled with the scraping of chairs and babbling excitement and in the next moment Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron like he was running for office.

“Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.”

“So proud, Mr. Potter, I’m just so proud.”

“Always wanted to shake your hand - I’m all a flutter.”

“Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can’t tell you. Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”

Harry’s face screwed up momentarily in thought, “Wait, I remember you,” Harry spoke as Diggle’s top hat fell off in his excitement, “You bowed to me once in a shop around here.”

The old man seemed absolutely elated, “He remembers! Do you hear that everyone? He remembers!”

The endless round robin of handshakes continued - Crockford came back more than once. From the milieu, a nervous looking man stepped forward, one of his eyes twitching in his pale skull. Harry extended his hand out of habit, but the nervous looking man held back. On second inspection, he reminded The Hammer of a bald Peter Lorre.

“Ah, Professor Quirrell!” Hagrid made the introduction instead, “Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.”

“P-pleased to meet you, Mr. P-potter.” he spoke with a stutter that seemed like an affectation.

“So what is it you teach at Hogwarts, Professor?’

“Defence Against the D-Dark Arts,” His eyes wandered away from Harry’s like he had something to hide, “not that you n-need it, eh, P-potter?” His laugh told the Hammer everything he needed to know. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, c-correct? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on v-vampires.” The expression of fear at the concept came a second too late. The Hammer almost wished for a Voight-Kampf so he could see if he was a replicant.

Before the man could make any more idle chat, the others surged their way forward until Hagrid managed to extricate him with a shouted excuse, “Must get on - lots ter buy. Come on, Harry.”

He practically lifted Harry away from the buzzing crowd and only took his hand off of him when they had escaped out the back door and into a cramped courtyard with nothing but a dustbin and some weeds.

“See, Harry? You’re a hero to these people.”

“I don’t know, Hagrid. They may seem grateful, but I feel like some of them are also afraid of me. Are they just sucking up in case I’m more powerful than I look?’

“Nonsense, just because it took ten years for things to get back ter normal doesn’t mean they’re countin’ yeh with the minor little menaces that came after You-Know-Who died.”

“But look at Professor Quirrell. He looked afraid, but I feel like he’s lying to me.”

“Never you mind, the ol’ Professor hasn’t been quite the same after a nasty bit o’ trouble in the Black Forest. Think ‘e ran into some vampires and a hag left him with some problems he can’t shake.” Hagrid fished a pink umbrella from inside his coat and began to count the bricks in the wall before the Hammer could ask more.

“Three up… two across…” he muttered, “Right, stand back.” He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella - Harry had taken out his notepad and scribbled down the directions in case he would need to come back by himself. Wait, vampires were real?

The final touch made the brick quiver, wriggling like it was alive, and revealing a hole that grew wider and wider until it had turned into an archway wide enough even for Hagrid that led to a cobblestone street that wound its way out of sight.

“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.”

“Diagonally. Clever.” Harry commented as they stepped through. Over his shoulder he saw the archway collapse back into the form of a brick wall. The other side of the wall made it seem like he had stepped back in time - a gradient of different colour cauldrons hung in the display of a shop immediate the archway, the late spring fog reminding him of the line from Macbeth.

They had arrived just in time for the sunlight to begin cutting through the fog, revealing even more of the shops further down the alley. The Hammer likened it to a Chinatown market - vendors cramped together side by side with storefronts deeper than they were wide and buildings that became labyrinths as you entered them. Eyes bugging from his head while he tried to take it all in, he saw an apothecary advertising Dragon liver, a chemist peddling drugs he had never heard of outside of folklore, and what he first thought was an exotic animal dealer that seemed to contain species that wizards regarded as pets. Children around his age were gathered round a new display at a shop advertising a variety of brooms for the purpose of racing - the shop next door to it catching his attention with jars of pickled eyes and a dark green liquid filled with rodent spleens.

“Gringotts first,” Hagrid put a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he started to wander toward a darkened alley with displays like a seasonal Halloween store, “‘sides, don’ think yeh’ve got any business in Knockturn alley at yer age.”

“Nocturnally? Seriously? Is the whole wizarding world just puns?” Harry protested as Hagrid ushered him into the white marble building. Harry’s head moved a mile a minute trying to take in the new sights.

The interior of the bank seemed just like any other upmarket establishment decked in expensive marble and wood, but everything had been scaled to give the employees a sense of physical superiority. Goblins, as it turned out, were smaller at their greatest stature than an average 11 year old boy. Hagrid took the lead and queued up behind a booth that was wrapping up their business - a small, manic looking wizard slipping away after his service was concluded.

“Good morning,” Hagrid stepped up to the Goblin at the counter, “We’ve come to make a withdrawal from Mr. Harry Potter’s vault.”

The goblin looked over the counter down his nose at Hagrid, “Do you have Mr. Potter’s key?”

Hagrid began to search through the myriad of pockets in his coat, dumping out strange scraps of detritus, dog biscuits, and god knows what else over the goblin’s ledger. Harry took the time to note security - there were other, larger, guards standing at the usual points of the room, but the absence of security cameras made him suspicious of what magical security could present itself as.

“Ah, here it is.” Hagrid produced a small golden key and held it up to the Goblin while he began to shove the bits and bobs unceremoniously back into his pockets.

“That seems to be in order.”

“An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore.” Hagrid added with a puff in his chest, “It’s about the you-know-what in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

The goblin took the envelope and read through the letter carefully, “Very well.” He handed the letter back to Hagrid.

“I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!” A different goblin appeared and motioned for them to follow. The new Goblin led them behind the counters and through a vault door.

“So what’s this thing you’re picking up from Vault 713?” The Hammer asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Can’t tell yeh that,” Hagrid brushed off the question, “Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore’s trusted me. More’n my job’s worth ter tell yeh that.”

It seemed like the magical world was just like the regular world sometimes - people out of their depths and secrets stuffed inside of secrets. At the end of the marble staircase leading downward, the door opened into a cavern that lacked the pretense and sophistication of the facade above. Torch lined walls lit a narrow stone passageway designed to house a floating railcar track. Harry wondered about the magical workplace safety regulations for the absolute lack of any safety railings.

Griphook whistled and a cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them from nowhere. They climbed in, giving Hagrid time to settle, before Griphook pulled a lever and the cart began to move. The initial narrow tunnel broke out into a deliriously wide cavern, the track itself splitting off at strategic points to other branches of the cave. Harry whistled appreciatively,

“Quite the operation you Goblins have here.”

“Nowhere is your banking safer than in a Goblin institution, Mr. Potter.”

The cart wound its way through the labyrinth, taking turns on autopilot - from what the Hammer could see, Griphook wasn’t doing any steering. Minutes later, they pulled into an outcropping with a small vault door after passing by a vast underground lake.

Hagrid stepped out and leaned against the wall, his knees shaking. “You OK there, pal?” “Be fine in a minute.” He held out Harry’s vault key to Griphook. The Goblin used the key to open the vault door and handed it to Harry when he was done. Green smoke came billowing out the door at Harry’s knee level, revealing the treasures inside. There were mounds of gold coins, columns of silver ones, and scattered piles of little bronze coins. It was quite a bit to take in.

“How much is this all worth? Are the metals magical? How much does it cost to buy a cup of coffee?” The questions poured out of Harry.

“This is a respectable fortune in savings,” Griphook responded, “and all magical currency minted by Goblin forges are marked. A small black coffee is 3 Knuts down the street.”

“The gold ones are Galleons,” Hagrid explained, “17 silver sickles to a Galleon and 29 Bronze Knuts to a Sickle. Easy enough.”

“The UK switched to a decimal system 20 years ago, you mean to say magic money is still done by weights and measures?”

“Correct. We refuse to devalue the worth of our currency.” Griphook replied.

“Hagrid, are there magical luggages? Like the kind that’re bigger on the inside than they are on the outside?”

“‘Course, though they’re a mite costly.”

“I think that’d be a worthwhile investment. Seems like there’s a lot of equipment to be carting around today and trying to get it to school. Maybe even a small one I can keep with me too.”

“Yeh’ll be looking for bags with undetectable extension charms, then.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to talk about that once we’re done. Let’s not waste any more of Mr. Griphook’s time.”

The Goblin nodded. Harry picked up a gripful of the small bronze knuts and weighed it in his hand.

“Mr. Griphook, do you have a paper roll for these bronze ones?”

The Goblin tilted his head curiously, “For storage?’

“Yes, like the kind for storage.” The Goblin searched his jacket while Hagrid handed Harry a bag to store his coinage. Harry grabbed the money by the handful and shoved it in the bag, mostly concerned with the Gold Galleons. Everyone else could make change.

Hagrid made a noise and began to tell Harry to stop when Griphook tapped the Hammer on the shoulder and handed him a freshly filled roll of Bronze Knuts.

“Thank you,” he took the roll and closed his fist around it, finding it acceptably weighty before putting it in his front pants pocket.

“That’s more than enough, Harry.” Hagrid spoke up afterward, patting Harry to get him to stop. Harry wrapped up the bag and put it into his coat pocket.

“Alright. What’s next?” Harry turned to Hagrid, patting the bulging pouch of Wizard money in his pocket.

“Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please,” Hagrid addressed Griphook, “and can we go more slowly?”

“One speed only.” Griphook replied as they piled into the cart again. The cart twisted and turned its way even further downward, entering an even deeper level of the caverns where the air took on an unearthly chill that pierced the Hammer down to his bones even with a trench coat on. The cart came to a halt in front of a vault with an engraved door, decorative filigree surrounding the number 713. Griphook climbed out of the cart first,

“Please wait.” The Goblin walked up to the door and ran his finger upward in one of the lower grooves and the door faded into non-existence, “If anyone aside from a Goblin were to touch these high security doors they would be sucked inside the vault and trapped there until someone opened it to check. It is a very painful process.”

“And how often do you check down here?’

“Once every ten years.” Griphook responded with a crooked smile that showed off the jagged teeth in his mouth like a casually jumbled collection of knives. Peering around Hagrid, Harry saw a small grubby looking package wrapped up in brown paper on the floor, tied in twine. He imagined a flash of pink but couldn’t be sure. The Hammer wrote his notes down on it in his pocket notebook. It was best to keep them while the observations were fresh. Hagrid picked up the package and tucked it deep into his coat. Curiosity was driving him mad to ask what it was, but the direct approach wasn’t going to get him answers.

“Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don’t talk to me on the way back, it’s best if I keep me mouth shut,” said Hagrid.

One gut wrenching cart ride later, they stood back out in the crossroads of Diagon Alley, the weather having cleared up a little more from when they had entered. Harry took a few tentative steps forward to one of the exotic animal boutiques, looking past it to see if anyone was advertising enchanted luggage.

“Wonderful weather, issssn’t it?” A display garden snake commented idly while resting in a sliver of sunlight. The Hammer took it as normal, smiling at the magic snake sheepishly before turning back to Hagrid.

“Do you have any recommendations for an enchanted luggage shoppe?” He asked the larger man.

“Uh,” Hagrid put one of his hands up to where his chin was under the wild tangle of his beard, “Might give the Moke shop a try first to see if they got anythin’ ter say about it. I can think of a place or two that might have ‘em, but they’re no place for children.”

Hagrid pointed down one of the cross streets labeled with a sign “Horizont Alley”  _ Really? They’ve just abandoned all subtlety _ , Harry thought to himself. “Listen, Harry, the shop’s not far that way past the Barber’s. If you hit the tobacconist you’ve gone too far. Would yeh mind if I slipped off to the Leaky Cauldron fer a pick-me-up? I hate them Gringotts carts.” Harry patted him on the side and nodded, he did still look a bit ill.

The Moke shoppe, whatever that was, seemed to be a subtle place, run professionally with a selection of bags the size of coin purses up to small knapsacks all hung up on display with pricing to match.

“‘Scuse me, doll.” Harry tipped his hat with a finger pinch grip at the young salesclerk, “but what exactly is a Moke?”

The girl smiled at him, “Oh they’re these big lizards who have this skin that shrinks when people try and find them. Works the same after they’ve been turned into bags too.” She gestured at some of the ones on the wall, “What size are you interested in?”

“Do you have any with that magic on it that makes it bigger on the inside?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She walked from behind the counter and over to a separate section of shelving, “All of these have an undetectable extension charm on them.” Harry gave a low whistle, tilting his hat up to see one of the higher shelves. He pointed at a reasonably sized one, “Could you get that one for me? It’s a little out of my reach.”

She reached up and handed him the pouch - one no larger than a paperback - with a belt loop and a price tag of 15 Galleons.

“So I can put pretty much anything in here and as much as I want?”

“Oh sure, so long as it fits in the top all you have to do is call out what you want and it’ll be right there in your hand.”

Harry took the roll of Knutts and dropped it into the bag,

“Coins.” He said, and the roll was back in his hand. A little slow, but functional. “I’ll take it.”

While he fumbled for the requisite change he asked her, “Do you know a place around here that does one of those, what were they called, undetectable extensions, on luggage?”

She placed a finger to her chin in thought, “I think there’s one down the other side of Horizont Alley past Gringotts. I think all of our product is done by the same people that do their valises.”

The Hammer thanked her and went outside, depositing the bag of loose money into his new pouch before securing it to his belt. Despite being full of bulky coins, the pouch sat flat against his belt line. Down the avenue, the luggage store was obvious to find - their display on the outside had a few trunks enchanted to sing at passers by along with one that yipped like a small dog. A decently sized wheeled trunk cost 50 Galleons with the undetectable extension charm applied so that he could fit the contents of a small room into it. It was amazing why more people wouldn’t want to have one of these at the ready.

Rolling his new trunk behind him, Harry went back to the intersection in front of Gringotts and checked his list - he still hadn’t actually made any progress on buying the listed school supplies.

“Oh, hullo Harry, found yourself some luggage I see. Was wonderin’ if I was gonna have teh wander the whole market looking for yeh.” Hagrid had returned from the Leaky Cauldron, “May as well get yer robes now - Madam Malkin’s just over there.”

The titular owner of the uniform and robe shop was a squat little woman with a propensity for mauve. Harry caught her as she had just finished with another customer - a boy with a pale pointed face and platinum blonde hair that looked to be about Harry’s age. From the look on his face, he seemed to think he was important. Once he was out the door, the madam ushered Harry onto a stool and slipped a robe over his head and began to take the necessary measurements. It seemed like it was school shopping season.

Once she was done and his new robes packed away into his trunk, he found Hagrid outside waiting for him with an ice cream in each hand. Harry juggled the trunk to his other hand and accepted the cone, walking with the man.

“Hagrid, are there old wizard families who have a bunch of money and think they’re better than everyone else?’

“‘Course, Harry. That hasn’t changed fer ever, what makes yeh ask that?” Harry described the boy he had seen leaving Madam Malkin’s.

“Sounds like yer right on the money. Slytherin if I’ve ever seen a snake.”

“Slytherin? What’s that?’

They stopped into the stationery shoppe and Hagrid pointed out a few suggestions to parchments and quills, “why it’s one of the school houses. There’s four of em. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin.”

“Even What’s-his-name?”

“Right, you-know-who was at Hogwarts years an’ years ago.”

The next shop was a bookstore called Flourish and Blotts, eliciting another under his breath comment from Harry about how much word play there was in the Wizarding World. The shelves inside were stacked floor to ceiling with books of all sizes from small paperback pocket guides to larger leather bound tomes embossed in runes and decorative metalwork edging. It was a researcher’s paradise. On the first run through, Harry piled all his necessary schoolbooks on the counter and then went back to the historical section, looking through the books that had been written or translated into English.

“Watcher lookin’ for?” Hagrid asked.

“History books, I guess, but something modern. I want to learn more about my family, about the school, and magic.”

“Oh, then you’ll want a History of Magic and Hogwarts: A History,” the attendant spoke up helpfully, “But what family are you talking about?’

Harry sighed, lifting his hat just enough to show the scar, “I’m told the Potter family is famous now.” The woman got stuck somewhere between a gasp and a swoon. The Hammer hated being famous.

“I-well, then you’ll want Great Wizarding Events of the 20th century.” The woman composed herself long enough to tell him the title he needed. Harry added all 3 to the pile and summoned the money he needed from his belt pouch. He was between years and it seemed like he had assigned his own summer homework.

After putting all his books into his trunk, they moved on to the other stores, Harry learning what standard sizes cauldrons came in before buying the student sized 2 along with a set of old fashioned scales and a collapsible brass telescope. From there the visit to the apothecary brought the Chinatown feeling home with the fascination with animal parts, questionable solutions, and jars of herbs that lined the walls and shelves of the place. The Hammer looked around at all the different ingredients derived from magical and non-magical creatures alike while Hagrid asked for standard potion reagents on his behalf. It was a surprise to see that unicorns were both real and not on some kind of endangered species list for how many horns they had for sale. Or maybe they were and the Wizarding Government wasn’t big on conservation.

Outside the apothecary, Hagrid went over the list with Harry again.

“Just yer wand left - oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”

Harry pulled his hat down to hide his embarrassment.

“You don’t have to, my parents -”

“Codswallop, I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal -”

“I’m actually terrible with pets, and the place I live now wouldn’t look kindly on me keeping one anyway.” Harry made eye contact with Hagrid’s knee.

Hagrid’s face sank, “Maybe summat Quidditch related?’

“Hagrid, I don’t even know what that is.”

“Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin’ how little yeh know - not even knowin’ about Quidditch!”

“So what is Quidditch?”

“It’s only the most popular Wizard sport. It’s like football for Muggles, everyone and their mum follows Quidditch. Yeh play up in the air on broomsticks and there’s four balls…” he trailed off seeing a look he took for confusion on Harry’s face.

“Tell you what, Hagrid, is there a popular wizard newspaper I haven’t heard of? I’d like to keep up with the news.”

“Oh, er, there’s the Daily Prophet. Main Office is right there.” He pointed above Harry’s head down the street.

“Perfect - you can get me a year’s subscription for my birthday. I can get it in the muggle world and at school, right?”

“Oh, sure. Are yeh sure you’d rather have that, Harry?”

“Yeah, thanks pal. Now where is the wand shop at? I can go there while you talk to the people at the Prophet.”

“Why, Ollivanders. There’s the best place fer wands, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”

The shop Hagrid spoke of was a narrow and shabby place with peeling gold lettering above the door that read “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC”. The only thing in the display was a single wand on a faded purple cushion ensconced by dust.

The sound of a small bell tinkling in the back carried to the door when Harry entered. The shop was as small on the inside as it had seemed on the outside - the short length of the service counter furnished with a single barstool seat. The walls were lined with shelves, all filled with thousands of small boxes containing wands. The hair on Harry's neck stood up on end like there was some kind of latent static in the air - the feeling of some subtle magic hanging stock still.

“Good afternoon.” a soft voice whispered out of the darkness as the form seemed to melt out from the shadows like Lon Chaney emerging from a crypt. The old man peered at him with eyes like great saucers, taking in Harry’s image in a way that made him wonder if he should be checking for his soul when he was done.

“Hello.” Harry returned the greeting.

“Harry Potter. I thought I would be seeing you soon. The time is about right, isn’t it? You have your mother’s eyes.” There weren’t any questions, “It seems only yesterday she was here herself. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. A charm wand if there ever was one.” Ollivander drifted closer to Harry, footsteps silent to the point where Harry doubted they would disturb the dust, his intent gaze focused in eye contact with the boy.

“Your father, on the other hand, favored mahogany - 11 inches and much more pliable. Though when I say he favored it - it is to say the wand favored him.”

Ollivander was uncomfortably close to Harry now, forehead to the brim of his fedora, eyes unblinking still. Harry felt Ollivander touch his scar with a single pallid finger, “And that’s where…” Harry reached up and grasped his finger, moving it away from him, “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” Ollivander explained at almost a whisper, “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…”

“You go out of your way to memorize people’s wands or just the famous ones?’

“I remember every single wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every. Last. One. Shall we measure you for yours?”

He pulled out a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket, asking for Harry to lift his wand arm. He measured him from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, round his head, and then a few loops around his dominant arm.

“Every Ollivander wand has a core made of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hair, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons,” It all sounded like poaching and trading in exotic animals, “No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenix are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

Harry took off his hat with his left hand and tossed it on to the chair, coming to realize that the tape was working on its own while the old man was flitting around the shelves and taking down boxes. He turned back toward Harry and made a motion saying, “That will do.”

The tape measure crumpled to the floor before slithering up the stool and onto the counter where it curled itself back into a roll. “Please, try this one.” Harry was handed a wand and no sooner had he begun to wave it when Ollivander snatched it from him.

“No, no, that won’t do at all. Try this one: maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-” Harry had barely gotten his fingers round it before he snatched it back.

The process repeated for what felt like an eternity - Harry felt like he was going to try every wand in the store - but even as his mood declined, Ollivander’s seemed to improve. “I suppose we’ll try this one.”

The wand’s wood felt warm to the touch, the sudden wave he gave it like tapping along to the beat of his favorite song. Light blossomed in shades of clarifying blue and white from the tip, illuminating the darkest corners of the shop. “Oh, bravo!” Ollivander cried out, “But very curious indeed, very curious to say the least.” Harry put the wand back in its box and wrapped it in brown paper,

“Alright mac, what’s curious?”

“As I said, I remember everyone and every wand. The Phoenix who gave up its feather for that wand also gave the one which gave you that scar.”

“I’m not a big believer in pure coincidence, pal,” Harry set down the 7 Galleons for the wand on the counter, “This all means something and I’d bet the Hammer’s reputation on it.”

He slipped the wand into his mokeskin pouch and returned his hat to his head, Ollivander giving him a short bow as he left.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to Harry’s planning, carrying all of his school supplies back in a single enchanted trunk aroused no suspicion on the way back home. Hagrid handed him the latest copy of the Daily Prophet and told him an owl would show up on the regular with a morning, evening, and Sunday edition. Harry held it up in front of him and looked like he was reading, but the words were lost. Instead he was thinking about what it meant when everyone was lauding him with accolades for an action he couldn’t even remember. At best he was some kind of folk hero. At worst they all suspected him of having powers he didn’t think he had and now they were sucking up to him. Bunch of sycophantic pricks.

“Hagrid, do they all think I’m some kind of hero?”

“Course they do, Harry.”

“My problem is that I don’t know any real magic. I’m already behind on all the expectations they’ve got for me. I’m not a hero - just some fall guy they put on a pedestal.”

“Yeh’ll be fine. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts. You’ll learn fast enough. Sides yer already leagues ahead of all yer peers if yer going out of yer way to learn all this over summer. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard, but if yeh keep it up, yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts - I did. Still do ‘smatter of fact.”

Hagrid fumbled around in his coat and produced a small envelope containing an embossed train ticket, the design itself looking old fashioned. “Here yeh are, Hogwarts express ticket. First o’ September at King’s Cross. All of it’s on there. If there’s anything yeh need, anything ‘tall just send word to me or Professor McGonagall.” They walked back to his home and Hagrid dropped him off at the door, wishing him well. Harry turned to pull his house key from his pouch and looked back to see Hagrid had disappeared.

As soon as the door was open, Petunia and Grant rushed to greet him like he had just gotten home from the Falklands.

“Mum, Dad, I just popped out to the shops! I didn’t get kidnapped by wizards or anything.”

“Was it easy? Did they give you any trouble?” Grant asked.

Harry took his hat off and set it on the trunk, “Like I said, just popped out to the shops. I got everything I need but I think I’m meant to keep all of it secret from you for now.”

“Well if that’s the case, do you need help taking your trunk up to your room?’

“I think I’ll be fine - sides I need to be able to do it by myself once I get to school.” Harry lifted up the trunk and rolled it to the foot of the stairs and began making his way to his room. They really did grow up too fast. Harry stowed the trunk in the corner of his room and hung up his hat and coat - he’d be taking them with him to Hogwarts. Where was a good private eye without his fedora? He certainly wasn’t going to wear that ridiculous looking uniform hat for any longer than necessary, it looked absolutely absurd.

Coming back downstairs, Harry froze at the foot of the steps, seeing that all the lights in the house had been dimmed, an inconsistent glow flickering from the kitchen. If Hagrid hadn’t brought it up earlier in the day, he was liable to have forgotten it in this whole mixup with magic and sorcery and the like. It took all of his self-control to not sprint into the kitchen after the flickering glow like they were fairly lights.

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” his parents both exclaimed when he strode into the room, their faces lit by the glow of the candles from below. “Thank you.” He said, letting himself be hugged in turn. “Now go blow out those candles.” Grant tousled his hair before letting go.

As soon as the candles were out, the lights came back on and the Hammer noticed a small case in the chair opposite his own. Petunia began to cut the cake, letting Grant lift it up and put it on the table.

“What’s that, Dad?” Harry asked through a mouthful of chocolate cake.

“This, son, is an Imperial Typewriter. I used one of these when I was your age when my parents sent me away to secondary school. After talking it over with your mum we agreed that this would make a great thing for you to take to that magic school of yours. If that great lot can make something like this stop working then I’ll eat my hat.” Grant explained, opening up the case and revealing a glossy black typewriter bearing the Imperial brand.

“Found it in that store down the street - receipt says it’s from ‘41.” Harry was already all over the machine, spinning dials and moving the platen, testing out the keys.

“We still use the electric ones to file paperwork at the Yard.”

“You’ll never believe it dad, but the wizards are still using quills and parchment. It’s like they don’t even believe in standard sized papers.” “What?”

The conversation went on like that for a while - Harry explaining the magical anachronisms of a society just under the surface of life in general, and Grant getting his turn to be incredulous about how strange it all seemed.

“You know Harry, once you’re a little older I might have you visit the office and see if any of those Black Files are unsolvable because a wizard did it.” Grant felt a little ridiculous saying it. The Hammer beamed at the chance. He may have been a year older and he may even have been magical, but he was still Harry.

***

The Hammer spent the rest of his summer buried in his books and delving into how his dedication in being a detective could take him. By the time his week to ride the express to school had come, his books had been dog-eared and tabbed with marks and measures of indices from all of his review. The thought board on his wall had also grown - he had a better grasp on his fame now, and why the people buzzing around him had been so eager to meet him. Voldemort was like someone had wrapped up Ted Bundy, Dennis Nilsen, and Stalin in a magical bow. Whatever it was the Potters had done to save him - he was convinced that it wasn’t by his own innate power that the spell had rebounded - it was a miracle event that decapitated Voldemort’s leadership. The bureaucrats that had risen to power afterward were credited with stability and peace, but it all read like the party line. From his meagre research he wanted to know who had sold his family out. 

He traced the line with his eyes up to the piece of paper with the word BETRAYER written on it. He had also looked into it from McGonagall’s angle - the old Dark Lord was shrouded in a level of mystery as to his powers and even the best wizard historians were unsure if he had survived a ‘killing curse’. The rest of his research had proven inconclusive about wizard artifacts that were both smaller than a hardback book and were still around. They were like regular artifacts - lost to history or perhaps in unnamed private collections. Harry put a toothpick in his mouth and chewed on it, still tossing around what it all meant. Come the end of the week, it would be his turn to hit the ground running, and maybe do some actual magic. Waving his dad’s old drumstick in his room saying pseudo Latin words had gotten old, but when it came to accidentally casting a spell for real, he wasn’t willing to take the chance.

The Hammer took out the pins in his thought board - this was coming with him. He needed to build it up again and with more context and magical explanation he might be able to put the narrative together. There might even still be others who survived the war that would be willing to answer his questions. Harry scoffed at the idea - the whole of Wizard Britain had started and ended a war without anyone finding out - like the Troubles had managed to get swept under the carpet. It was such an adult thing to do.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

The September weather outside of King’s Cross station reminded the Hammer of a ruddy little nowhere airstrip in French Morocco - but even with that feeling of grounding, there was a sense of being out of order. He had woken in the darkness of the morning and finished what little remained of his packing, choosing to wear his hat and coat to the station instead of the wizarding robes that would be his school uniform. He could change on the train if it mattered that much to them. They had arrived an hour and a half early, leaving more than enough time to wile away the peculiarities of wizards and say their goodbyes.

Petunia was more doting than when she had brought him home from that grade school fight - taking extra time to wipe away the smudge marks she was leaving when she hugged him. The idea had never really sunk in before that she was the last blood relation he had left and he would be leaving her and his whole life that he had known before behind when he boarded that train.

Grant had done his best to look stern and proud, but even that facade had begun to crack when he embraced his son. When he let go, Grant pressed something small and metallic into the Hammer’s hand, letting go of it and standing after giving his hair one last tousle.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, turning his hand to look at it.

It was a small brass rectangle with years of patina on it. Harry opened up the lighter to see that it had a fresh wick and flint.

“It was mine back from when I smoked,” Grant replied with a little cough, “I figured if these wizard blokes want to fool around and say magic won’t let our stuff work, you can find out if they can stop fire.”

The Hammer grinned in response and hugged his father again.

“Thanks, Dad.” The Hammer was gladly on the case.

Harry checked his watch, a mechanical one they had gotten him earlier in the summer after discussing the same idea, and realised it was almost time to go.

“Remember, Harry if -” Petunia was still all anxiety.

“Any trouble I can’t handle, come home. I know, but I’ve got a job to do too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow.” The Hammer had been practicing this one in front of the mirror, “What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of, mum. I’m no good at being noble but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that.”

His mother was smiling with glistening eyes, and Grant was doing his best to contain laughter at Harry’s pitch perfect impression. Petunia lifted up his hat and kissed him on the forehead and spoke, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Harry rolled the luggage behind him, taking out the ticket and looking at it again. He hadn’t mentioned it was platform 9 ¾ to them, that felt like it was meant to be the first mystery for him to solve as his introduction into the world of magic. World of Magic. He rolled it around again just to get comfortable with the idea.

He stood with his back against a column and watched the pillar separating platform 9 & 10, pulling his hat down and taking notice of the people walking around him. It was his first test as a wizard and as a detective and he didn’t want to fail.

“-packed with muggles, of course-” Harry watched a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of the boys was pushing a plain trunk, and one of them had an  _ owl _ .

“Now what’s the platform’s number?” the woman asked,

“Nine and three-quarters!” the small girl holding her hand replied squeakily, “Mum, can’t I go…”

“You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first.”

The oldest of the boys marched towards platforms nine and ten. Harry tilted his hat up to see just to make sure he wouldn’t miss it. A crowd of tourists passed by between his position and the direction the eldest boy was walking - by the time they had cleared, the boy was gone. Harry said a word he had caught his father saying under his breath, it did make him feel just a little better about the situation.

“Fred, you next,” the plump woman said.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George.” said one of the twin boys, “Honestly woman, call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?”

“Sorry, George, dear.”

“Only joking, I am Fred,” said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and Harry watched his feet moving before disappearing into the divider. The other twin followed along shortly after, disappearing before the hammer even had a chance to blink. There was a trick to it between the two platforms - his cart had disappeared before it made contact with the column dividing the two.

“Alright, Ron. Remember, don’t be scared you’ll crash into it.” The woman urged the last of her boys toward the divider. Within a moment, he was gone. Harry waited a beat and stepped up beside the woman, who took an immediate notice to him.

“Oh, hello dear, Hogwarts? Go right ahead, we can wait a moment.” She urged him forward. The Hammer tugged on the brim of his hat, saying “Thank you, ma’am” before striding confidently toward the platform dividers, closing his eyes while he pulled on the trunk behind him.

When he opened his eyes, the entire world had changed. The ambient smell of burning refined fuels was gone, replaced with the muskier scent of coal aflame. An old fashioned scarlet steam engine sat on tracks next to the platform he had landed on, a sign overhead denoting the Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock. Behind him, a wrought-iron archway where the ticket box would have been held the words “Platform Nine and Three-Quarters”. He had made it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats and cat-like creatures of every colour wound here and there between people’s legs. Owls hooted at each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. Harry was glad he had opted for a newspaper subscription instead - subjecting owls, even magical ones, to this much coal smoke seemed like animal abuse.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some of them hanging out the window having Audrey Hepburn moments with their families while others were fighting over seats. Harry dragged his trunk along with him looking for an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying,

“Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.”

“Oh, Neville,” he heard the old woman sigh, “your parents did so much better at your age.”

Harry stopped to watch a boy with dreadlocks and the crowd that surrounded him. “Give us a look, Lee, go on.”

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train, the pair of red haired twins standing near the stairs into the carriage.

“Want a hand?” one of the twins asked him as he struggled to fit his valise up the stairs.

“Yes, please.” Harry replied.

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!” With the twins’ help, Harry got his trunk tucked away in the corner of an empty compartment. “Thanks, gents.” Harry spoke, removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow.

“What’s that?” one of the twins said suddenly, pointing at Harry’s lightning scar.

“Blimey,” said the other twin, “are you - ?”

Harry put his hat back on as quickly as he could, feeling the colour rising to his face.

“Suppose I am. The name’s Harry Potter-Mason. You can call me The Hammer.” If everyone was going to surprise him like this, he may as well be on top of it. He extended his hand.

The twins shook his hand in turn, introducing themselves and Fred and George Weasley and gawking a little bit before their mother’s voice came in through the open door.

“Fred? George? Are you there?”

“Coming, Mum!” They called out in unison.

They took another look at Harry, sizing him up before giving a meaningful look between themselves and hopping off the train. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

Harry took a seat next to the window, half hidden behind the curtain while he pulled out his notebook and wrote down all the names he could remember from the encounter, continuing to watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying.

“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.”

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

“Mum - geroff.” He wriggled free. Harry wrote his name down. He didn’t seem particularly interesting, but the twins might be. The Hammer watched the family interaction until the eldest boy came striding back into sight wearing the Hogwarts uniform robes, a shiny red and gold badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said, “I’m up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves - “

“Oh, you’re a Prefect, Percy?” One of the twins feigned surprise and Harry scribbled more notes, “You should have said something, we had no idea.”

“Hang on. I think I remember him saying something about it,” said the other twin, “Once-”

“Or twice”

“A minute-”

“All summer-”

“Oh, shut up,” said Percy the Prefect. The twins certainly had mastered their comedic timing. Harry finished Percy’s notes with “-full of himself.”

“Now, you two - this year, you behave yourselves,” Harry’s ears perked up at their mother’s words - this could be interesting, “If I get one more owl telling me you’ve- you’ve blown up a toilet or there was another nasty bit of business with those quidditch teams…”

“Mother!” one of the twins feigned indignation, “Why we were cleared of those heinous accusations! Though blowing up a toilet is a great idea though, thanks, Mum.”

The Hammer took down more notes to ask about: the quidditch scandal and to look into whatever it was the twins were into.

“Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?” Harry leant back and pulled his hat down a little so they wouldn’t notice him spying.

“You know that boy wearing the old fashioned hat and coat that came into the station behind us? Know who he is?”

“Who?”

“Harry Potter!” Harry cringed a little at the sound of his own name.

“Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him. Mum, oh please…”

“Ginny, you’ve already seen him, the poor boy isn’t something you ogle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Saw his scar, asked him about it. He wanted us to call him the Hammer, but the scar is really there - like a bolt of lightning.” Harry rubbed it uncomfortably under the rim of his hat.

“Poor dear - he seemed a little strange. Just appeared out of the shadows, but he was ever so polite.”

“Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

Their mother’s expression fell into a graven mask,

“I forbid you to ask him, Fred. no, don’t you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day of school.”

“All right, keep your hair on.”

A whistle sounded.

“Hurry up,” their mother said, and the three boys rushed onto the train. They leant out of the window for her to kiss them goodbye and their younger sister began to cry.

“Don’t Ginny, we’ll send you loads of owls.”

“We’ll send you some reflex draughts!”

“George!”

“Only joking, Mum!”

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys’ mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed; then she fell back and waved with all her might. It was a Kodak moment like he had seen on the silver screen, and now he was living it.

Harry got up and closed the door to his compartment after watching mother and daughter disappear when the train rounded the corner, settling in for the ride and watching the houses pass by outside until they had cleared the countryside. It wasn’t until he saw the fog across the green of the hills that the tug of excitement came to him - this was it. This was his mystery, his adventure. He was stepping up to fill the shoes of Marlowe, Spade, or Blaine - and really if he did it right he was going to outdo all of them. The Hammer opened the curtains wide to take in the gloomy September landscape and settled into the corner making sure the door was unlocked, putting his feet up on a notch and tilting his hat rakishly down toward his nose and began to speak,

“The fog had rolled in on a train bound for nowhere while the sky wept the tears of angels. I had only just learned about this mess but they said that I was already neck deep in it like a man inheriting his father’s debts. I still had more questions than answers, but-” There was a knock at the compartment door followed by it sliding open to reveal a brunette girl with bushy hair dressed in her new Hogwarts robes, all black, “Out of all the gin joints in all the towns, in all the world she walked into mine.” The Hammer just kept on going.

“Excuse me,” the dame seemed incredulous, “Did you just quote Casablanca at me?”

“I like a doll that knows her films, come on into my office.” he invited, She stepped in out of sheer fascination.

“Please don’t call me that. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter. But I was ever so pleased of course. I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard. I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart of course, I just hope it will be enough - I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you? Are you a muggleborn as well? Of course you are, you’ve actually seen films and all.”

The Hammer righted his hat and lowered his feet to the ground, “The name’s Harry. Harry Potter-Mason. You can call me the Hammer.”

“The Ham- wait, Harry Potter? Like the famous one? I know all about you of course-”

“Toots, you know squat about me. All the nonsense they-”

“Would you stop calling me those names? They’ve written about you in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wiz-”

“-arding events of the Twentieth Century. Believe me, Girlie, I’ve read those rags. Nothing about them covers what you need to know about me.” He watched her wring the hem of her robes in frustration. He lifted his hat just enough to show the scar as proof.

“Then do you know which house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking round and I hope I’m in Gryffindor.”

“Don’t get your hopes up; let me guess, Hogwarts: A History? The houses are phonus balonus and I’m not going to put my entire future on what my secondary school classmates were like.” The assertion seemed to fluster her.

“I- well, anyway,” she seemed to finally remember what it was she had walked into the compartment for, “There’s a boy out there who’s missing his toad.”

“Yeah, Neville something. Heard him talking about it before I boarded the train. What do you know about it?”

“Er, well, I was helping him find it and - “

“Sounds good, I’ll take the case. What’s it look like?”

He motioned to the seat opposite his and pulled his notebook out. She sat down diagonally from him as a reaction to his invitation before realizing how silly it made her feel - did people who were famous and in books always talk like radio plays?

She opened her mouth to reply when Neville himself stuck his head into the open door, “Uh, Hermi-”

“Ah, Mr. Chamberlain, have a seat.” The Hammer cut in.

“Er, no, my name’s Longbottom…” Neville sat down meekly next to Hermione.

“As we were talking about, you seem to be missing your toad?”

“Uh, yes. His name’s Trevor. He’s a smooth sided toad. Brown with spots, mostly.”

Harry scribbled away at his notes, “And you, Miss Granger, where have you searched already? Have you asked the Prefects for help?” She looked at him like Ingrid Bergman under stage lights.

“We’ve already covered the rear carriages up to here, but -”

“That’s a no to the Prefects, then?”

“No, that is-” Normally she was the one that was talking too fast. It wasn’t exactly an uncomfortable experience to find someone who could keep up.

“That’s all right, I wouldn’t trust Johnny Law either. Give a man a shiny buzzer and then he thinks he’s better than you. We’ll ask if we need to - but I think we can make it canvasing the front as well as asking some contacts I might have.”

Hermione felt a bit dazed - the intensity of his questioning wasn’t something normal people did. “Well, come on.” He was up with his hat pulled back down and halfway out the door, “You two can leg it on the beat with me to make sure I don’t miss anything.”

Harry disappeared around the corner with a billow of his coat.

“Uh, Hermione,” Neville spoke in a small voice, “Who was that?”

“He said to call him the Hammer.”


	7. Chapter 7

Canvassing went swimmingly as far as fruitless activities were concerned. It gave the Hammer an excuse to knock and barge into rooms uninvited, clocking faces and names and cliques. They made their way forward to the train cars with older students, some of them already changed into their school robes bearing trim of the different house colours. The Hammer found them all mostly unhelpful and unobservant regardless of their hue. It wasn’t a house fault as much as it was a human one.

He found the Weasley twins and the youngest son piled into a freed compartment not far from where the boy with the tarantula in a box had settled - he was more convinced they would know something, someone, or a way there as soon as he moved in earshot of their room.

“-more of this about that Gringotts in Africa.”

“Same nonsense ‘bout the stuff Bill is working on with the high security vaults, Fred?”

“Right you are, George.”

The Hammer knocked on the doorframe, the three Weasleys turning immediately to him.

“Why if it isn’t the Hammer. What’s our local celebrity gracing us with his presence for?” Fred greeted him.

“Well gents, I was hoping you two could help me.”

“Ah, who’s this?” The youngest boy asked.

“This, Ron, is - drumroll please,” George spoke and pointed to Fred, who began finger drumming on the windowsill, “The one, the only, Harry Potter.”

Ron’s jaw dropped, “Wicked. Do you have-”

Harry raised his hat up again, “That said, Fred, George, I’m on the case looking for this guy’s pet Toad. I had the idea in my head that you boys might have the gumption to make all this duck soup.” He gestured toward Neville who was mostly behind Hermione.

Fred brought a hand to his chin, miming deep thought.

“Can’t say we’ve seen a toad as of late. Though I don’t know what you mean about duck soup.”

“Just a saying. Anything I can do to remind you, or maybe just a way of finding him? After all, we don’t know any magic yet.”

“Hmm. What would be worth it? Maybe if you answered some of our questions?”

Harry gave a quick glance at Hermione before replying, “Info for info sounds like a fair trade.”

“Okay then, do you remember anything about the night you blasted You-Know-Who?”

“What, Volde-” Hermione pinched him in the side while the others had expressions frozen on the horror setting, “Gah! What? Why is everyone afraid of just a name? And no, but I do remember some bright green flashes of light.”

“Lame!” said Fred, “Boring!” Said George, “Wow.” said Ron.

“But it is the truth. Before we go finding the toad, I had a question.”

“Just means we get to ask you another one.” Fred said.

“Fine by me. What’s all this about a quidditch scandal, then? I heard you talking about it with your mother.”

“We categorically deny our involvement, of course.” George replied.

“Of course.”

“But they are being extra careful this year because of the few sixth and seventh years on last year’s team who got busted in a cheating ring with a stockpile of performance enhancing draughts that all connected to another O.W.L. assistance group in a different year distributing black market Felix Felices. Some of that stuff was tainted and I think some of the people involved are still in St. Mungo’s with rotten luck.”

Hermione gasped from behind him and held a hand over her mouth. Harry scribbled notes like a madman, underlining the things he wanted to talk about with her later. O.W.L? Felix Felices? St. Mungo’s? It really was a whole new world.

“So where have you been since?” Ron asked. George smacked him lightly upside the head, “Ow! Why’d you do that?”

“I’ve been just outside London, mostly. Live with my aunt and her husband. They’re mum and dad to me.”

The twins groaned again at the boring answer, “What?” asked Ron, completely missing the point.

“We could’ve asked him something more interesting, but now we’ve got that, I suppose. Wonder if we could call it to us.” said George.

Fred stepped out into the hallway and pulled his wand out, making a vague waving motion and calling out “Accio Toad!”

The train remained busy, with nothing and no one reacting to the spell.

“Hrm. What did you say the toad’s name was?” He asked.

“Trevor.”

“Accio Trevor the toad!” that time, there was a girl’s yelp from further up the train car as a mottled brown toad came flying up from below her robes.

“Trevor!” Neville yelled as he sprinted up toward where the little brown amphibian looked like it was going to land. Multiple pairs of helpful hands reached for it, with one managing to catch the amphibian out of the air before it could pancake itself into the siding.

“Do be more careful with him. Hate to see him crushed under foot.” Fred spoke to Neville before high fiving his twin and resuming his seat in the compartment.

“Once again, thank you gents. I’m sure we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other soon.” Harry tipped his hat and turned back around to Neville and Hermione. “I think that qualifies as a closed case. If you would, doll, I’d like a word with you.”

Hermione made a frustrated noise, “Stop calling me that! But fine.”

“Nev, take good care of little Trev there. Don’t take any wooden nickels, ya hear?” He tipped his hat to him and made his way back down the carriages. Neville stood holding Trevor, a mixture of confusion and awe struggling to win over his expression.

Back in the compartment with his luggage, Harry resumed his seat in his preferred corner next to the window. Hermione sat down opposite him this time after closing the door.

“So what is it you wanted to speak to me about?” She asked.

“Two mysteries, if you’re interested in helping me solve them. One is ongoing, the other is a cold case. So far you’re the only one who seems to have done her homework and if everything you spilled to me when you walked in my door is true, then I need someone who can string clues together to help me.”

She felt herself go rosy at the compliment while an inquisitive light flashed in her eyes, “Yes, of course.”

“While we’ve still got some rail between us and the ‘warts, what I had wanted to do, Ms. Granger, was to talk more about the circumstances leading to my parents’ deaths. This includes finding out if ol’ Voldy really kicked the bucket or not. From what I’m told, the jury’s out on that particular opinion. Aside from that I’ve got a line on a mystery item that was in the London Gringotts.”

“But everyone knows about your parents’ murder, it’s the most publicised case of the past decade!”

“Which is why something might be wrong. Everyone knows how the Dark Lord did it, but not how he found them. My running theory is that someone sold them out. There was a betrayer in their midst who might still be around. I want a piece of him if that’s the case.”

“Well I don’t know anything offhand that would point in that direction, but I’m sure the school library would have what you want. A library always does.”

“Fine by me, sweetheart. That was the cold case anyway - the mystery object is more my current fascination.”

“Well what is it that makes you think the item is important?”

“I heard that trio of Weasleys talking about the branch in Africa that reminded me of a little something I saw over summer -”

He told the story about the little brown package at Gringotts, leaving out that it was Hagrid who had taken him, “Since wizards only have the one bank branch, which goes against a few concepts of monopolies, that break-in at Gringotts Africa might be related to the item being moved out of the London branch. What could be in there that’s smaller than a bread box but important enough that someone would send a Hogwarts representative to move it?”

“You do know Hogwarts is one of the safest places in England, magically speaking? It’s rivalled as a magical fortress for all its defenses and can withstand an outright magical assault.”

The Hammer mulled it over. He wished he could write his dad about it. The method needed someone to bounce ideas off of and the ingenue in front of him might be the best way to do it.

“If I were to start looking,” Hermione continued, “I suppose I would start by researching powerful magical objects that are small, and then expand to simply expensive magical objects that are small. Though, I doubt whatever that is would be just some expensive trinket hidden in a vault.”

Harry pulled a fresh toothpick from inside his case. “Don’t suppose you know any likely candidates?”

Hermione leaned back, looking up at the ceiling, “There’s just so many. So long as it’s smaller than,” she made a vague size with her hands that was right around what Harry was thinking, “we could be looking for the Holy Grail but not Excalibur.”

“Wait, is the Grail a  _ magic _ magic artifact or just like a regular magic artifact?”

“I doubt it’s the Holy Grail, and I don’t think the wizarding community would keep something like that. I think this is going to have to wait for more research.” She shut him down. For the sake of complications, it was best to have left the topic there.

“We might be missing something from a real wizarding perspective.” He responded, finally.

“Whatever do you mean? We are real witches and wizards.”

“No, I mean that neither of us grew up in this nonsense. I couldn’t tell you the fables and epithets wizarding families repeat to each other outside of Merlin, could you?”

Her expression fell into deep thought, “I suppose not, no.”

Mottled sunlight flashed across her face, the deep purple hues of the sunset outside outlining their compartment as the feeling of movement became sluggish.

“Oh no! Is it this late already? You should change into your uniform robes. I’ll stand out in the hall so you can have some privacy.” Hermione stood up and drew the curtains as the train lights flickered on, the warm glow of a gaslight lamp dancing to life providing illumination.

With her exit to the hallway, Harry dragged his luggage down and changed into his robes, the loose black material familiar to him in a strange sort of way. It didn’t beat a trench coat, but he would have to roll with it. On the other hand he couldn’t bear to part with his hat, instead he held the uniform one in his hand and just sort of sneered at it, deciding finally to roll it up and place it in a pocket. Once he was done, he opened the door to find Hermione there talking to Neville, the latter holding his toad in an extra careful grip to the point where Harry wondered if you could suffocate one that way.

“Oh, Hammer!” Neville greeted him with enthusiasm.

“Ah, you’re done. I was just asking Neville about his family and he was talking to me about some of the more famous ones. It’s actually quite fascinating.”

“You’re from a fully magical family, Nev?” The Hammer asked.

“Yeah, pure blooded is what they call it. They also use half-bloods and muggle born as-”

A different voice echoed through the train, drowning out the rest of Neville’s statement, “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

The three of them froze at the news - Hermione looked like she was ready to start bouncing up and down, Neville had turned about the same colour as his toad, and the Hammer couldn’t stop a smirk from plastering itself on his face. They waited with baited breath as the train began to slow, finally coming to a halt at the station at the end of the line.

The older years milled about, pushing out onto the platform with the more muted first year students, the dichotomy between them setting them apart as much as their robes. Once everyone had disembarked, Harry found himself on a tiny, dark platform, shivering in the cold night air and wishing he could have put his trusty coat back on. From the darkness, the dim globe of a lantern’s light came bobbing into existence over everyone’s head accompanied by a familiar voice, “Firs’ -years! Firs’- years over here! Doing all right there, Hammer?”

Hagrid’s big, hairy face beamed at him over the sea of heads.

“C’mon, follow me - any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs-years follow me!”

They followed him down a steep, narrow path along a well trodden part of the cliffside, the dirt and rocks slipping out from underneath their feet in the dampness of the dark. Neville continued down next to the Hammer, one hand clutching Trevor and the other occasionally reaching out to steady himself on Harry’s arm. Hermione was somewhere nearby in the dark, her bushy hair occasionally brushed him on the cheek like the tendrils of a cobweb in the throng.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called out over his shoulder, “Jus’ round this bend here.”

A collective call of awe started in a wave from the front of the crowd. The path opened onto the edge of a great black lake, murky midnight waters still in the darkness and reflecting the stars like diamonds scattered on black velvet. Atop a mountain on the other side of the lake stood a castle, warm orange lights highlighting its parapets and towers, the silhouette looming over the horizon as a watchful monolith.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of small gondolas all sitting in the water by the shore. Harry extended a hand to Hermione to help her into the boat before sitting down himself. Neville handed him his toad before climbing in and taking it back.

“So you do know how to be polite.” Hermione spoke an aside.

Shortly after, Ron filled in their fourth spot.

“Everyone in?” Hagrid shouted from a separate boat, his girth necessitating that he was afloat in one by himself, “Right then - FORWARD!”

The little fleet shoved off in unison, guided by magic and gliding across the obsidian surface of the lake, the ripples of their wake the only disturbance to the reflection of the stars. The Hammer’s gaze was fixed upon the looming visage of the castle ahead, watching it grow larger by the second. The children were silent in the tension as they approached the cliffs where the castle stood, their palpable mood hanging hotly between them despite the chill of the lake.

“Heads down!” Hagrid yelled as his boat led the way to the cliff, Harry placed a hand on his hat as he leant forward to watch where they were going, passing under a curtain of ivy overhanging the darkness of a tunnel that seemed to pass into the heart of the caverns beneath the castle. Gradually they approached a lighted harbour, the dancing glimmer of torchlight slowly growing stronger and allowing their eyes to adjust.

The front of their boats ran themselves gently aground and the tail ends twisted sideways to allow all their passengers to disembark onto the pebbled entryway. Everyone clambered up the rocks after Hagrid, following his lead to a set of rough hewn stone steps that eventually led them back out into the darkness and onto the damp grass in the shadow of the castle.

They continued up a flight of stone steps and crowded around an oak double door, built even taller than Hagrid was. The gigantic man turned around and asked, “Everyone here? Didn’t lose anyone between the lake and here did we?”

The Hammer looked left and right, seeing that the three he had been traveling with were yet still with him. He gave Hagrid a thumbs up for what it was worth in the crowd.

Hagrid turned around and knocked three thunderous times on the castle door.


	8. Chapter 8

The door swung open to reveal a familiar face from Harry’s recent summer,

“The firs’-years are all here, Professor McGonagall.” Hagrid reported.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

She took a small step backwards between the doors and waved both of her hands outward, an unseen force responding to her as the doors opened themselves wide. The torchlit entry hall was enormous, the light from the sconces dying before it could illuminate the ceiling. The Hammer gave an appreciative whistle following the lines of a marble staircase upward with his eyes.

The group followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. The noise of hundreds of voices came through a closed doorway to the right - the rest of the school by the logical conclusion - but instead of joining them immediately the professor showed them to a small, empty chamber just off the hall. Once the last student was in, the room was standing room only, the tension and anxiety amplified by their new circumstances.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall, “The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. The Hammer broke concentration and glanced at the back of Hermione’s bushy head before going back to the Professor.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup. This is a great honour. I hope each and every one of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.

Mr. Potter, remove your hat. It isn’t to the uniform standard and you can not be wearing anything on your head for the sorting ceremony. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.”

The Hammer felt everyone’s stares as he removed his fedora and put it to the lip of his mokeskin pouch, pushing the brim up just enough for him to shove it into the pouch.

“So you’re the famous Harry Potter.” The boy from the robe shop had pushed his way through the crowd with two big mooks that had the same kind of baby face as everyone else in the class.

“Call me the Hammer,” Harry countered on instinct, “but who are you?” He gave another look to the two big goons flanking the pale boy, reaching slightly to his sides and pushing Hermione and Neville behind him.

“This is Crabbe and Goyle, “The boy introduced them with a nod of his head in either direction, “and I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

“No offense, pal, but your name sounds like one for a two-bit grifter in a vampire flick.”

Malfoy changed from pale to a few different shades before replying, “Funny to you? You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others. Hanging around a coward like Longbottom and,” his eyes moved to Hermione, lingering for a little too long, “ this no name mud-”

“Bushwa!” Harry said in the harshest seethe he could not to disturb the level of noise, “I spotted an egg like you and yours a mile away, Malfoy. Go sell your snake oil to a Sweeney that’ll buy it.”

Before they could continue their confrontation, a collective gasp arose from the crowd around them. Twenty-some ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. All the living people paused and simply watched them come in, their spectral conversations continuing as they passed by, hardly glancing at the new students.

“Forgive and forget, I say,” A fat little monk was saying, “we ought to give him a second chance -” 

“My dear Friar, this would hardly be his second chance. In fact for all our years it would hardly even be his hundredth. We’ve given him more than he deserves and he’s done nothing but give us a bad name. He’s not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?”

A ghost wearing ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years. No one answered.

“New students!” said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them, “just about to be sorted, I suppose?”

A few people nodded, eyes wide as a deer in headlights.

“I do hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the Friar, “My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” Professor McGonagall’s voice cut in, “The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin.”

One by one, the ghosts faded through the wall.

“Now form a line,” The Professor turned her attention back to the students, “and follow me.”

Harry trudged along in autopilot, having an existential crisis about the existence of sentient ghosts. They had mentioned one of theirs wasn’t exactly a ghost. Did that make them racist? Ghostist? What was that even called? They walked out of the chamber back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

The place lived up to its name, being even more enormous than the entry hall and reminding the Hammer more of the size of a football pitch than anywhere indoors. The place was lit by a veritable legion of candles floating mid air above four long tables where the rest of the students were sitting. The tables were set with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the head of the hall there was a long table set perpendicularly to the students’ tables where the professors were sitting. Professor McGonagall led their procession up there so that they came to a halt in line facing the other students with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them reminded the Hammer of seafoam, the misty silver of ghosts scattered amongst them. Looking upward, he saw that the ceiling beyond the candles was the black of space dotted with glimmering stars. “It’s bewitched-” “looks like the sky outside, yeah.” He cut Hermione off.

The sound of a wooden stool being set down on the stones brought Harry’s attention back - Professor McGonagall had set it down in front of all the new students. On top of the stool, she placed a pointed wizard’s hat that looked like it had been worn ragged.

The Hammer didn’t have a guess on how old it was, counting the patches on it and noting the frayed bits and general dirtiness. Everyone in the hall continued to stare at the hat, so Harry followed suit, wondering what the big deal was until a horizontal rip across the body of the hat opened up and it began to sing,

“Look far and wide and then you’ll see

There is no other hat like me.

Keep your fancy formals,

But don’t dare to hang me on the rack,

I’ve got a job to do, for I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat.

What’s within you cannot hide

Once you’ve worn me for a ride

So try me on and by the time you doff

I’ll have told you where you’ll be off

Whether Gryffindor,

Brave and true,

Or Hufflepuff

Patient and Loyal

Perhaps Ravenclaw

Witty and wise

Or Slytherin

Who are in it to win

All who pass ‘neath my brim

Will find house and home

Or perhaps family within.”

The Hammer managed to keep his mouth shut, but the idea of a mind reading, sentient hat was more than a little disturbing. The sorting ceremony was putting on a magical hat and letting it read your mind so it could determine the content and quality of your character. Easy. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in, looking down at his hands and clenching and unclenching them into fists as he tried to calm down. Looking around, he wasn’t alone in his anxiety - all the new students looked about what he felt.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward next to the hat and unrolled a ridiculously long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted,” She gave a little cough before beginning, “Abbot, Hannah!”

A rather uncomfortable looking girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of their gaggle, picked up the hat and sat down. The sorting hat fell down over her eyes, looking like it was devouring her head. A moment later, the hat yelled, “Hufflepuff!” in a voice that carried across the hall.

Her new house table cheered and clapped as she took the hat off and placed it on the chair, smiling wide as she moved to join her new house while the ghost of the Friar waved merrily at her.

“Bones, Susan!” “Hufflepuff!” She sat down next to Hannah.

“Boot, Terry!” “Ravenclaw!”

The table second from the left clapped this time, with several Ravenclaws standing up and shaking his hand as he joined them.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy” followed Terry to Ravenclaw, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor of the year to thunderous ovation from the table at the far left.

“Bulstrode, Millicent” was picked for team Slytherin, and to the Hammer if they managed to keep picking names like that he could see why they had the reputation for being two-bit conmen and annoying bureaucrats. Normally, the Hammer would’ve observed the people around him to calm his nerves, but being surrounded by an anxious crowd all lined up like they were the prejudged of the French Resistance about to have their last cigarette made him a little more anxious than usual. He stood, tapping his foot against the ground as she called,

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!” “Hufflepuff!” It seemed like some people were shoe-ins for their house, but others took more time to decide. He wondered if there were ever cases where the hat gave up, or made a mistake.

“Finnigan, Seamus” called up a sandy-haired boy who had been standing next to Harry and it took 65 seconds by the Hammer’s watch for him to be declared a Gryffindor. Harry figured he could try and peel apart the Hat’s algorithm - if there was one - to keep him calm.

“Granger, Hermione!” She was shuffling between a power walk and a sprint to the stool before shoving her head eagerly into the hat. Harry started counting the seconds on his watch, noticing that she was mouthing words from underneath the brim like she was talking to herself - or maybe to the hat - from what little he could see of the bottom half of her head. It wasn’t until almost a full five minutes later that the hat cried out in what sounded like a begrudging voice, “Ravenclaw!” The blue trimmed table cried out in welcome, and Ron made a face of sheer relief next to him. The Hammer wondered what soured his experience with her.

Neville froze in place when his name was called, the Hammer patting him on the back to encourage him. It was another long wait before the hat cried out, “Hufflepuff!” Sounding smug about it this time. Neville seemed to be shaking like a leaf in the wind when he took the hat off and set it down on the stool - looking shell shocked as he walked to the welcoming cries of his fellow Hufflepuffs. 

“Malfoy, Draco” was a shoe in for Slytherin, the hat had barely touched his slicked back hair before yelling it like his hat-life depended on it. Malfoy went to sit with his two minions, Crabbe and Goyle, looking extra pleased with himself. The closer the roll call got, the bigger the butterflies seemed in his gut. Why did he care? Because he was getting his sentence passed by a magical talking hat?

“Moon”...”Nott”...”Parkinson”... then a pair of twin girls, “Patil” and “Patil” that were separated to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, then “Perks, Sally-Anne” and finally,

“Potter, Harry!”

In the silence as he stepped forward, waves of gossiping whispers broke out across the hall in a soundscape that reminded the Hammer of lawn sprinklers.

“Potter, did she say?”

“ _ The _ Harry Potter?”

“Potter-Mason?”

“Hammer?”

He heard people reacting to Hermione and Neville’s corrections as he accepted the Hat from the Professor and set it down upon his head. In the darkness of the hat, he heard an oddly human voice speak,

“Hrm. Difficult. There are many mysteries within these walls, how do you expect to solve them all?’

“Who’s a hat to question that?” Harry shot back, “Does everything else here talk in rhymes too?’

“Being honest, it’s quite a hassle. I’ll tell you your place within this castle.”

“Wait, wait. I’ve got some questions, mac.”

“Well, make them fast. You have no idea how long this can last.”

“If you’re sentient, who made you? How did they make you? How do you survive? How is it you come to conclusions about all the students? How old are you? Can you do anything else other than sort kids? Are there types of magic that’ve been forgotten that you’ve witnessed-”

“The founders, magic, magic, magic, more than you, and yes but you’re asking the wrong question, yes, and before you give me the 3rd degree, I’m hundreds of years old and created by wizards so powerful they probably could think you to death without uttering a single word. If you want to mess around with that kind of stuff you’re a hundred years too early. It’s not every day a child decides they need to sit and ask questions about me, but -” there was a pause like the hat was thinking, “-... ooh, so you have been paying attention. Very good. Very good!”

“What?”

“Just reading your thoughts. Heard the headmaster talking about some of these things.”

“The headmaster wears you?”

“I sit in his office. I work one, maybe two days a year if we have late arrivals. You think they throw a sentient hat in the closet til next year? Overall, you’re pretty good, Hammer. You’re asking some of the right questions.” It seemed like the Hat was absorbing some of his quirks the longer it sat on his head.

“I’m just trying to make sure-”

“To solve all the mysteries and get revenge.” The hat read straight through his carefully worded circumlocution.

“But-”

“Kid, I read you like a book as soon as I touched your head. Now listen up or else you’ll miss it, the mysteries within are as great as the mysteries without. Two people out of that crowd that passed before you mentioned you by name - I’m sure you can guess who. But you’ll need both of them for what might be to come.”

“Did you just say that I’m gonna need the power of friendship but with more words?’

“Sometimes the trite sayings are still the good ones.”

“But why else haven’t you just called out a house for me? That’s your one job, isn’t it?”

“That goes perfectly to the point that your job doesn’t define the quality of your character. You can be more than that.”

“What’s more important than the truth?’

“Not being so self-destructively obsessed with it.”

“Sounds like a bad deal to me.”

“I consider the wellbeing of my students - all of them that pass under this brim. If I place you there this will irrevocably alter your course and the course of the hundreds of other lives out there.”

“But I came prejudged, you told me yourself.”

“If you had asked me for other options you might’ve had some, but in this case-” Then the little voice was no longer talking to him, “RAVENCLAW!” he heard the hat yell to the crowd. In the seconds that followed there was no applause or cheering, just the same tense silence as the Hammer pulled the hat from his head, his eyes blinking to adjust back from the darkness. He came face to face with the silver form of a ghost. It was the one lady, staring at him inches away from his face.

“What the hammer? What the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp,

Dare its deadly terrors clasp!”

She spoke so few could hear, ghostly eyes staring intently into his. He recognized the look of a guilty soul.

“In what distant deep or skies.

Burnt the fire in thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?” 

The Hammer responded.

There was a glimmer of recognition, not a smile, but the subtleties of ghosts were new to him. The teaching staff looked on in fascination, to their record none of the ghosts had ever come forward to interfere with the sorting. The Grey Lady floated backwards from him, nodding her head. 

“Welcome.” She said in a voice that filled the hall before retreating to the background with the other spirits.

The Hammer eyed the room after he stood, stunned faces looking at him as he set the hat down on the stool. Professor McGonagall was the first to start clapping and it spread like wildfire and escalated into cataclysmic cheering centered at the Ravenclaw table.

“WE GOT POTTER!” one of theirs yelled as he stood up, clapping above his head while the Hammer went over to the table, shaking hands and being welcomed by the two Prefects of his house.

“Penelope Clearwater” He could barely hear her over the continued cheers,

“Robert Hilliard” It was the same for the other.

The Hammer sat down next to Hermione, who had saved him a seat. She looked intensely curious about the events that had just transpired, but held her tongue out of politeness. Harry could see the staff table properly now, and from across the room Hagrid gave him a befuddled two thumbs up. Harry pulled his fedora from its pouch and waved with it before putting it back on his head. In the center of the table in the golden chair, the Hammer saw an ancient wizard who he assumed to be Albus Dumbledore from all the letterheads listed by the school. His silver hair had an ethereal glow to it like the ghosts in the back of the room. On the opposite side of the table from Hagrid, he saw Professor Quirrell, staring out puzzled over the situation that had just passed - his brow deeply creased beneath his purple turban.

It was yet a few more moments before Professor McGonagall could calm the restless crowd back down - the ghost’s action had already riled up the rumour mill for the Hammer. Some were talking ‘chosen’ and others ’reincarnation’. With only a handful more left for sorting, Harry felt bad about stealing the show. A few minutes later, ‘Turpin, Lisa’ joined them at the Ravenclaw table, looking around to see if the ghost had anything to say to her. Ron, who looked a few shades paler and greener, stepped up to the stool. Without missing a beat, he was sent over to Gryffindor. Finally, “Zabini, Blaise” was sent to Slytherin and the Professor cleaned up the area.

The feeling of his stomach dropping out brought the Hammer’s attention to his place setting - golden plates and cups gleaming under the candlelight to taunt him with their emptiness.

Albus Dumbledore stood from his golden throne. He was beaming at the students with his arms opened wide in welcome as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

“Welcome!” He said, his voice magically amplified throughout the hall, “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Sassafras! Treacle! Chthonic! Flash! Thank you!”

He sat back down. Everyone clapped and cheered.

“Is the old man on something he’s not sharing with the class or does he have a few screws loose?” Harry asked Robert.

“Everyone says he’s just an eccentric old coot. My theory is that he’s hiding something behind the nutter act. Now eat your food, there’ll be plenty of time for questions later. That’s an order from your prefect to enjoy yourself.” Robert replied, the scent of various foods in the cornucopia of the feast finally reaching Harry’s nose. Looking down, he realized the selection of foods had materialized rather suddenly to their tables.

Harry dug in, sparing no expense and having a go at everything he could fit on his plate - he couldn’t remember a meal between saying goodbye to his family and this one - not with all the mysteries that had been in the way. The Hammer chewed on a piece of roast beef as he watched the frilled ghost at the Gryffindor table grab his ear and yank his head almost clean off in a display for Ron. If he hadn’t already been eating he would have had something to say about it.

Hermione was in the same boat he was - she had tried to start a conversation about the year’s classes with the other Prefect, Penelope Clearwater, and had been shut down just as soundly and told to eat and talk about anything but their upcoming work. It was apparently a Ravenclaw rule to make sure everyone actually ate at mealtimes and had some semblance of social interaction. From what Harry could tell, this was normally the house of eccentric scholars and talented geniuses. He felt like neither, just someone who wanted the truth.

“So what was it the Grey Lady said to you?” Padma Patil, one of their new cohorts, leaned over and asked the Hammer.

“Not a whole lot. Soon as I took the hat off, she was just there hanging at eye level quoting the ‘The Tyger’ at me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m being literal, she just quoted a stanza from The Tyger by Blake. Appropriate, but strange. I feel like she even knew my nickname.”

“What does that mean?” She asked.

“Toots, I wish I knew. I’ve got a scroll’s worth of questions going on now without any answers to go with them.”

Out of the side of his vision, he continued keeping watch on the ghostly lady who had interrupted his sorting. By the whispers of some of the people around him, she was the resident ghost of the house - the same as the one in the ruff for Gryffindor whose nom de guerre was ‘Nearly-headless Nick’, appropriately. The Friar was the Hufflepuff ghost and the gaunt, bloodstained one was called the Bloody Baron and was Slytherin’s problem. It was quite a bit to absorb - but none of it quite as bothersome as the drink selection.

“Is this pumpkin juice?” The Hammer asked, voice loud enough to make it to everyone and aimed at no one in particular.

“Yes.” Someone replied through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“Wizards drink this malarkey?” Harry made a face, “Just gimme a mug of hot chocolate any day.”

By the time he had returned his goblet to the table, there was an earthenware mug next to it, still steaming. He picked it up to try it and found that it was the richest, most chocolatey hot chocolate he had ever had.

“Don’t suppose I could have a glass of water on the side?” The Hammer spoke at a lower volume this time, still to no one in particular - his eyes darting around to see if there was some other trick to it. He found his goblet was now filled with cool water.

“Er. Thanks.” Magic was going to take some getting used to. Harry resumed his meal and ate along with the others until finally setting down his silverware, convinced he couldn’t eat anymore. The remains of everyone’s food disappeared in unison and were replaced by the puddings. It seemed to be an even larger variety than Harry had ever seen in one place - all manner of ice creams, pies, tarts, eclairs, doughnuts, trifle, the entire rainbow of fruits irrespective of what season it was…

Harry plucked an eclair from the tray along with a doughnut, setting them down on his plate and sipping at his hot chocolate.

“You’re making a face.” Hermione commented, reaching just across him for a slice of melon.

“Am I, doll? I’d tell you why but we can’t talk about work here, so maybe later.” She pinched him on the side.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

He still had the questions, though. His eyes tracked back to the golden chair centered at the teacher’s table - he needed some time alone to talk to the headmaster. In the corner, he saw Professor Quirrell talking to a staff member to his side with long, greasy black hair and moonlight pale skin. He reminded Harry of Boris Karloff if he had been in the Lost Boys. In the next moment the pale man looked past Quirrell and made eye contact with Harry, eliciting a sharp, hot pain flowing outward from the scar on his head.

Harry clamped a hand onto it and stared into the middle distance into his dessert, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. A moment later, it was gone.

“Robert, who’s that teacher with the black hair next to Professor Quirrell?” He tugged on the Prefect’s sleeve.

“That’s Professor Snape, the potions master. He’s also head of Slytherin House. Though, he’s been trying for the DADA position for years now. I guess Quirrell edged him out with his Albania experience.”

“DADA?”  
“Oh, right, sorry, Defence Against the Dark Arts.” Harry mulled it over while sipping his hot chocolate. Snape didn’t look his way again. When the meal finally devolved into conversations and the last plate was pushed away, the food disappeared and the headmaster stood up once again, moving this time to the podium where Professor McGonagall had read names for the sorting. The Hall fell silent.

“Now then, that we are all fed and watered, I have a few more start of term notices to give you.

First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is expressly forbidden to all pupils without staff supervision. A few of our older students would take care to remember that as well.”

Harry watched him take a quick scan at the Gryffindor table, presumably looking at the Weasley twins.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. Also in light of the incident from this past year, I must emphasize to all students to refrain from ingesting any potions whose source and quality cannot be strictly verified.

In addition, with Professor Quirrell’s move to teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, we have graciously received an adjunct professor from our American Wizarding brothers and sisters, please join me in welcoming Professor Longbaugh to our beloved school.” Dumbledore raised a hand toward the staff table and one of the teachers stood up to receive applause from the students.

He was the most American looking professor the Hammer had ever seen - the new teacher was wearing a dark, pinched-front cowboy hat that he doffed to the crowd as greetings, the tone of it matching with the rest of his outfit which included a duster and gun belt worn in the style of the old west. The Hammer saw the gleam of brass and iron from the holster at the man’s side.

“Professor Longbaugh will be assuming the Muggle Studies course and by all accounts should provide a very refreshing perspective to the course.”

“Before you get any ideas, that class is an elective starting in 3rd year.” Penelope commented quietly at the first years.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

A few people laughed, most were silent. Harry chuckled to himself - that was where the thing Hagrid moved was definitely hidden. “How serious is he about the death and dismemberment?” Harry asked the Prefects.

“Probably extremely. Though he normally tries to at least provide a reason why, like all the various creatures in the forest or something obvious like not jumping through portals to planes of torment.”

“Is this normal for life here?” Hermione asked, looking a little mortified.

“Portals to planes of torment are a pretty rare occurrence, and so long as you follow directions and don’t mess with dark magic, the professors can fix most anything. Beyond that, there’s always St. Mungo’s.”

She had an expression of doubt and surprise on her face that made the Hammer want to break down laughing.

The announcements were followed by what passed as the school song that consisted of mostly rhyming nonsense paired with the cacophony of voices singing in different meters and keys and tempos. Afterwards, the houses were released to their individual prefects.

The Hammer followed Robert and Penelope with the rest of his house out and away from the other houses to a tower in a separate part of the castle, up a set of stairs to a door with a knocker in the shape of an eagle.

“We Ravenclaws don’t have a single, simple password like the other houses. Instead you should be prepared to answer a riddle to test your capabilities.” The Prefect tapped on the eagle and it opened its mouth to speak,

“What’s black and white and read all over?”

“A sunburnt zebra.” The Hammer said sarcastically.

“Huh, I guess that works.” The eagle replied, closing its mouth and then the door it was attached to swung open.

“I- er. Yes, good job, Harry.”

“Call me the Hammer.” He replied.

Penelope pushed the door open the rest of the way, leading the first years into the common room. It was a large, airy space with the entirety of the room pushed out into a circular area to take up the space within the tower’s walls. Arched windows were hung with blue and bronze silks and a starscape of midnight blue was reflected by the ceiling above, mirroring the deep blue of the carpet that ringed the room. At the far end from the entrance there was a large nook lined with bookcases and dominated by an almost larger than life marble statue of a woman dressed in old-fashioned robes. Once they were all gathered in front of the statue, the Prefects asked for their attention and began to give them a few notes about their new life at school,

“First off, all students that did not bring a pet owl to school are welcome to use the school’s resident owls. They are located in the owlery at the top of the castle’s west tower. For those of you who did bring a pet owl, your bird will be living there during the course of the school year.” Robert began, “Those of you who are muggle-born please inform the owl as such and it will do its best to wait for your parents to write their responses. They like to be fed field mice or voles for their trouble.”

“And I know all of you saw the castle ghosts today, some a little closer than others,” Penelope found Harry in the crowd by his hat, “But the vast majority of them are harmless and friendly. Our resident ghost is the Grey Lady. She’ll usually be happy to help you find your way or find any items you may have lost. The only one you’ll want to watch out for is named Peeves - he’s a poltergeist. We didn’t run into him today on our way back to the common room, I think I saw him stalking the Gryffindors, but he’s a bit of a terror. He likes to throw ink on you or various other pranks so try and learn ‘scourgify’ as quickly as you can. Book of Spells by Goshawk, chapter three. It’s normally a fourth year spell, but I’m sure with a bit of practice you all will be able to do it.” Harry wrote down the references in his pocket notebook.

“Additionally, the staircases in the school have the habit of changing regularly. We here in Ravenclaw house have figured out the pattern as to these changes, so please consult with a more senior student to get the notes on that matter. Unless necessary, please don’t share these notes outside of our house. After all, this is how we ensure our perfect attendance record.

Aside from that, this common room is yours now. Please try to keep it in as tidy order as you can and keep the volume to a reasonable level. If you’re experimenting with a particularly loud magic please go find a disused classroom. First years are all on a fairly standard schedule which you all will receive in homeroom on Monday, so please be aware of that class’s location. Anything else, Penelope?”

“For your new robe trims, please lay out your uniforms on your chair and they’ll be added overnight. The girl’s dormitories are up those stairs,” she indicated a stairwell on one side of the bookshelves in the nook, “And the boys dormitory is up there,” she pointed to the doorway opposite the girl’s, “All of your luggage has been moved from the train to your bed already so please feel free to have a short look around and pick up a book or two to read. Lights out is enforced at ten on weekdays and midnight on weekends. Be sure to return the books to where you found them in a timely manner or else we’ll have to show you what the house rules are for people who don’t take care of their books.” She said the warning with a winning smile.

“Aside from that, welcome home, Ravenclaws.”

Upon being released by their prefects, most of the crowd took their advice and made a beeline for the bookshelves, chatting loudly with one another about the various titles and materials. The Hammer stood and took a long look at the statue they had been standing under, the woman it depicted reminding him of someone. Reading the plaque on its base, he saw the inscription for the founder of his new house, Rowena Ravenclaw. Something about her face was extremely familiar. He paced around the statue, taking in the details of the marble reproduction.

“Is there something wrong with the statue?” Hermione had reappeared out of the crowd with her arms loaded up with books from the shelves on all manner of subjects.

“I’m just trying to figure out who this dame reminds me of.”

“She’s the house founder, I’m sure you’ve just seen pictures of her around all over the place. Aren’t you going to get any books for yourself? Seems like you’re not living up to the Ravenclaw reputation if you’re not even going to fight over one.”

Harry looked up from one of the creases in the marble like she had slapped him, “Guess so. Any time is a good time for research.”

He ducked away from the statue and paced around the common room. Since he was late to the party the crowds had died down with slim pickings remaining - it was mostly split between extremely simple books actually aimed at children about his age or dense tomes that looked more like reference manuals to arcane mysteries. Eventually he gave up and grabbed something that seemed sufficiently hefty and trudged his way up to the boy’s dorm.

The first year’s section was in another wide, spacious area laid out in a circular pattern with a central magical flame that hung in the air emitting a warmth and muted radiance. Harry greeted his four new roommates and took off his hat, tossing it like a frisbee onto the bed with his luggage next to it.

In the more private setting, he learned their names as Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, and Benjamin Lee.

“So is it true that you’re the same Harry Potter that’s defeated the Dark Lord?” Ben asked as soon as the introductions were done.

“Unfortunately that’s what everyone tells me. But my full name is Harry Potter-Mason.” The Hammer replied, shrugging since he knew it would fall on deaf ears.

“Then what is it you remember about the incident? Have you studied magic before coming here? You must know some powerful stuff to have been able to stop You-Know-Who.” Michael asked the familiar train of questions.

“Gents, please, I was one year old at the time, if that. The only magic I knew then was how to soil my diapers and suck my thumb in all likelihood. Whatever magic saved me, that was done by Lily and James Potter.” He dismissed them as he laid out his all-black uniform robes as he had been instructed. “Frankly, I’m exhausted so if we can save the twenty questions for later, I’d appreciate it.”

After changing into his pyjamas, Harry trudged down the hall with his toothbrush and back again before falling heavily into his four-poster bed and letting the darkness of sleep claim him.

The smell of burning wood was pervasive in his dream - there was something different about it. It wasn’t anything at all like a comforting campfire, but instead there was a sense of darkness and desperation to it. He remembered his mother’s face. Not Petunia Mason, but Lily Potter. Her tear-streaked face looked down at him with the kind of pity of being unable to prevent the inevitable. She really did give him her eyes. Something outside the room they were in crashed like a strike of lightning without the earthshaking rumble of thunder and he knew his father was no more.

Dream-Lily told him she loved him a few more times before the door splintered away into non-existence and darkness itself seemed to ooze into the room. The Hammer couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t see it for its true form. He heard his mother beg the darkness to spare his life. It responded with laughter, high and cold. Green light flashed in the darkness of the Hammer’s nightmare and then it was all over.


	9. Chapter 9

The Hammer woke in the dead of night, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled to breathe. It was just a dream, he told himself while another part of his brain screamed at him for being a liar. It was a bleak moment of understanding why the last Wizarding War had been so hard on people. His heart seemed to be trying to fight its way out of his chest - was it the magic in the air that was making him remember these things?

The Hammer turned sideways and sat up in his bed, putting his bare feet down onto the cold hardwood flooring. The difference in temperature was a shock to his system, only helping him wake up even more. He groped blindly on the nightstand next to his bed and found a glass of water that had appeared during the night. Harry grasped onto it and drank deeply, emptying it of the cool water before finding his glasses and putting them back on.

The fire in the central area had extinguished itself of light but he could still feel the warmth radiating from it. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, bathing everything in a pale white glow. He was in no condition to go back to sleep. Instead, he rummaged around for his slippers and found them eventually, putting them on and going back down the stairs to the common room. He couldn’t tell what time it was, but looking out the window for the moon, he suspected it wasn’t that far past midnight.

There wasn’t a particular direction or desire to his wandering, just the pull to put one foot in front of the other while his racing mind processed what the dream meant. Rubbing his eyes whilst standing in the dark like a child, he found the form of the Grey Lady in front of him, her wispy silver glowing in the light of the moon.

“What are you doing out of bed?” There was a gentleness in the softness of her voice.

“Can’t sleep, doll. I had a nightmare. I think I remembered something.”

“They wouldn’t understand, would they? Having something you fear and regret, but it’s a part of who you are.”

“Tell me something, lady.”

“What is it you want to know?”

“What are you running from? I might be new at this, but it’s clear you’re guilty as all get out.”

The spectral outline of the woman shimmered like she was bristling with anger, “Impudent child, no one in the history of Hogwarts-”

“Better get used to it, Sheba. I’m here for the truth. Me and the hat had a nice long chat about it and I think you know a lot more than you’re letting on otherwise you wouldn’t have pulled that stunt at the feast.” The Hammer was back in proper form.

“It isn’t time for you to know,” the ghost stared at him with hardened eyes, “What makes you think I’m running from something?”

“Toots, everyone’s running from something. Most of us don’t get it so bad we decide to become ghosts after.”

“It’s your desire to know the truth, no matter the cost?”

“It’s only a matter of time.”

A beat passed.

“I sought to be more clever. I did not wish to continue living in the shadow of my mother.” The ghost seemed to stare at the marble statue that dominated the room in the moonlight, its white glow even brighter than the spirit’s.

“No wonder it looked familiar. You’re her daughter.”

“In life, I was Helena Ravenclaw, yes.”

“That makes two of us that had something bigger than ourselves to live up to.”

“And in life, I failed. I hope yours will not end the same way, young Potter.”

“Is that why you came to test me? To leave the message and see if I would be worthy of your house?”

Before she could answer, her expression darkened and the room around the Hammer felt that much colder. The Grey Lady sank away through the floor, leaving him looking around.

Harry’s blood chilled in his veins, coming face to face with the ghostly visage of the Bloody Baron. Eyes caught between a reflection of life and death stared back at him, the faint echoes of chains moving signalling his phantom passage. Unlike the other ghosts, he was strapped with manacles, hand and foot, dragging them behind him as he went. The baron came to a stop in front of the Hammer while the boy tried to put on a brave face.

“So her chosen has developed an affection for her.”

“I don’t think she chose me for anything, pal.” Harry was struggling to keep his cool - the Baron moved through him to where the Grey Lady had stood, setting a feeling of freezing and sorrow through him. Tears welled in the Hammer’s eyes. He blinked them away.

“And yet you sought her out. Dragged the story from her lips.”

“I’ve just never seen a dame so downtrodden. I asked her the same question I can ask you - what is it you’re running from? Something about what you did put you here not just as a ghost, but someone carrying the weight and warning of their sins.”

The Baron regarded him with eyes burning in phantasmal fire.

“Be wary,” the ghost said, “Be wary of her, but be wary of yourself. Anger and passion will lead to your downfall.”

Harry put his hands in his pockets and continued to eye the ghost. In his pockets, he clenched his hands into fists, trying to keep his nerve,

“Thanks for the warning, pal. Sounds like it was from personal experience.” With the rattling of chains at the edge of his hearing, Harry watched the baron disappear into the floor after the lady. It was an old dance Harry was only just learning to perform.

***

In the morning, Hammer found his school robes folded neatly with the rest of his house clothes on the chair next to his bed. He lifted them up to admire the new azure trim, the house badge with the image of an eagle on it glittering in the morning light. The smirk crawled back onto his face: he liked it.

At breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry yawned wide after sitting down at the table. He hadn’t slept well. He hadn’t slept much at all. Reaching toward the cup, he found it full of orange juice.

“Don’t think that’s enough this morning. Think I can get some tea? Bit of milk, two sugars.”

Hermione sat down opposite him, “You look awful. Those bags under your eyes look like they’ll weigh your head to the table.” By the time she had started reaching for the sausage, there was a mug of tea near his hand. He sipped on it in silence, nodding slightly in acknowledgement of her evaluation of him.

“I didn’t sleep much.”

“You might try the infirmary before bed tonight, I’m sure you’ll be able to get a sleeping draught from Madam Pomfrey.

“I don’t know that I want to. I think the extra magic in the air is stirring up old memories. I think I remember more about the night the Dark Lord killed James and Lily.” He kept his voice low so only she could hear it. She looked up from her bowl of oatmeal with a wide-eyed expression of concern, but also curiosity.

“If it gets any clearer, we can go to the library with it.” He appreciated a girl who could cut straight to business. The Hammer normally would’ve been game, but he didn’t want any more of that for the time being.

“So how is it for you? You’ve got the blue trim and the eagle buzzer now.” He changed the subject to their new house.

“I was torn between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, but I think I made the right decision, especially with that library in our common room.” She smiled winningly.

“The hat gave you a choice?”

“Of course, it told me that my desire to know was enough to fit in with Ravenclaw but I was brash enough for Gryffindor. In the end, I was convinced Ravenclaw was right for me. Besides, that common room library is more than worth it. I’m half way through one of the books I grabbed last night and it has just been absolutely enlightening.”

Harry let her keep talking, she was giddy as a girl on Christmas about whatever it was that was in the book and he wasn’t in the mood to try and compete with it. In the middle of an anecdote, an owl dropped off his daily edition of the Prophet.

“When did you sign up?” She asked.

“Back in Diagon Alley, on my birthday. Do you know any other rags I can throw some money at? This one seems like it might have more than a little bias in it. Just look at the editorials - I wouldn’t trust this Skeeter lady farther than I could throw her.”

Hermione looked thoughtful, “I’ve heard good things about Wizarding World News. You might want to look into that one.”

The Hammer held a few coins from his pouch up to the owl, “You think you can get me one of those, pal? Maybe bring back a subscription form?”

The bird looked at him with a kind of animal skepticism before plucking the change from his fingers and departing through the nearest window.

“Any big plans for today?” Harry asked her after the owl had departed.

“I was planning on going to the library. There’s so many more subjects to study now.” She replied, pushing away the bowl of oatmeal she had been working at. “What about you?”

“I was gonna wander around a bit, maybe get a lay of the land. Since you’re busy, I wonder…” he turned around to look at the Hufflepuff table before suddenly bolting upright and walking toward a small cluster of students.

“Where are you-” Harry ignored Hermione before walking up on the cluster of gossiping students. The Hammer put a hand on Neville’s shoulder and asked, “Hey, Nev, what are you up to today?”

The group of Hufflepuffs came to an abrupt halt, all eyes turning to look at Harry.

“Oh, Hammer! I was, uh-” Neville stumbled over himself.

“Is it true, are you really the same Harry Potter that killed You-Know-Who?” One of the other students in the crowd asked in the gap.

“You can call me The Hammer.” Harry used his other hand to pull on the brim of his hat as a greeting.

“So what is it, Neville? Got something important to do today?” He asked him.

“I-well, that is,” Neville kept on stumbling like he was falling down the tower stairs, “I haven’t really-”

“Wonderful, I’ll meet you after breakfast out in the hall and we’ll have a look ‘round the castle.”

“Oh, uhm,” he looked to the rest of the Hufflepuffs and back to the Hammer, “Sure, I’ll see you after breakfast.”

The rest of his housemates seemed to gain a measure of awe at Neville’s association with greatness.

“How do you know him?” The Hammer heard the conversation flare back up as soon as he had taken a few steps away.

Hermione eyed Harry suspiciously as Harry sat back down.

“What did you tell him?” She asked.

“I asked him to come with me today since you’re busy. He didn’t seem like he had any other plans.”

She looked at him admonishingly, “You strong armed him, didn’t you? He looked stunned out of his mind when you went over there and there aren’t many Hufflepuffs who would go out of their way to ruin an invitation from you.”

“What? Me? Pushy? Think you’re imagining things, doll.”

She kicked him under the table. “When are you going to stop calling me those nicknames?”

“When you stop being a doll.” Harry said and almost immediately regretted it. He pulled down his hat and stood up, “Anyway I’m going to go set up some stuff before I have to meet Neville.”

Back up in his sector of the dorm, the Hammer popped open his luggage and called out the pieces of his thought board, taking the picture Petunia had given him and placing it in the corner of the cork board on his wall. In the center, he took a piece of parchment and wrote “The Maltese Falcon” on it and pinned that to the wall. Connecting to it, he took the article from the day’s Daily Prophet and put it on one arm of the board. On the other half he put up a parchment labeled “Scholomance” for the school. From the school’s bubble came two separate arms that were linked together - one labeled “Softie” for Hagrid and the other “Chief” for Dumbledore. His encryption wouldn’t take a genius to beat but at the very least it would deter people from being able to read it offhand. He paused to think about it some more. Whatever the thing was, it was in the 3rd floor corridor. Was it worth having a go at it just to confirm its presence?

He checked his watch and realised how much time it had taken to get set up. Instead of continuing, he closed up his luggage and threw a sheet over the thought board, before heading back downstairs to meet with Neville.

He found the yellow trimmed student waiting for him in the corridor outside the Great Hall, shuffling nervously from foot to foot.

“Hammer! I made it!” He greeted him excitedly with a wave.

“Neville, great to see you. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long, I got caught up wondering about that case I was working on.”

“Oh, no,” Neville looked up hopefully, “was it that one you talked to Hermione about on the train?”

“Right in one, I’m not dragging you away from anything important today, am I? She told me I came off a little… forceful.”

Neville looked away for a second, “Oh, no, the other Hufflepuffs had invited me to some things, but I was on the fence about going. It’s no bother, really! What is it we’re doing today?” The gleam in Neville’s eye made it look like he was desperate to be helpful.

“Reconnaissance, Nev. Getting a lay of the land. I want to have a look around the school while we’ve got the chance before start of term so that I can know it before things get hectic.”

Neville looked crestfallen, “I was hoping to help you with something important.”

Harry clapped him on the back, “This is important, Neville! Probably one of the most important pieces of proper preparation! Just imagine you’re being chased down these hallways and you’ve never once laid eyes on any of them. You’d be running blind, maybe even into a dead end where that something would catch you and who knows what would happen!”

Neville shivered, “I don’t think I want to imagine that, that sounds scary.”

“Life is scary, Neville. You either curl up and then be caught with your pants down or you buck up and be scarier than whatever it is that’s out there.”

“You’re… really different for a Ravenclaw, Hammer.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, now let’s go.”

They set off up the stairs, Harry keeping notebook and pen in hand. Going top to bottom, they began up in the west tower where their professorial head of house’s office resided. Not too far off from there, they ran into the Weasley twins coming out of the Gryffindor common room, which they affably shared the fact that it was normally hidden behind a portrait on the same floor. Harry marked off the parts of the map he had been drawing in his notebook, placing an X over the location of Gryffindor tower. It wasn’t a part of his beat, but it wouldn’t do him any good for now to break into places he shouldn’t be. Aside from a few things hiding in the shadows that gave Neville a scare, the amateur cartography expedition carried on without a hitch.

On the fifth floor, the Hammer pointed out the Weasley twins to Neville outside what was ostensibly labeled the Prefects’ Bathroom. From their mannerisms, it seemed like they were setting up a prank on their elder brother.

The fourth floor was dominated by a series of seemingly empty classrooms, and peeking into them didn’t reveal anything in particular. To Harry, there were quite a few disused bathrooms and actual classrooms - whatever the number of students, Hogwarts didn’t seem like it was operating anywhere near capacity.

“Neville,” Harry struck up a conversation as they descended stairs down near the restricted section of the library, “how many wizards do you think are in Britain?”

“I dunno, Hammer. A few thousand, I suppose. Why?”

“Just seems like there’s only a few hundred students here at once, but this castle seems to make barely enough sense even trying to figure out this layout, but we could probably fit four or five times the amount of students we have.”

“Really, there’ve never been that many magical people in Britain, Hammer. It’s why they went into hiding years ago as a society so that all the Muggles wouldn’t be so keen on trying to kill us.”

They passed by a hall full of suits of armor on the third floor before seeing a large room full of school trophies and plaques in all colours, shapes, and sizes. The Hammer led the way in, taking note of names and years at a glance. He paused in an older section - noticing some kid named Tom Riddle had almost a whole cabinet to himself for the amount of awards he had won. Closer to the 1970s, Harry stopped in front of a sports section of the display cases.

“What is it, Hammer?” Neville asked, looking down at a subdued team plaque for the Gryffindor house team.

“I think…” Harry reached out toward the award, his fingers stopped by the glass in front of a small brass shield that listed the Chaser for that year - James Potter, “That’s…”

“It’s your dad, Harry.” Neville spoked in a hushed tone.

“Neville, how  _ do  _ you play Quidditch? I still haven’t gotten a straight explanation from anyone.”

“Well, there’s-” Neville explained the full rules of the game as they wandered through the rest of the trophy room. Harry noticed his father hadn’t won more than a handful of awards, and none of them for academics. The more concerning thing to him was that the rules for Quidditch didn’t make a lick of sense for a spectator sport. The seeker felt like a gimme position that could’ve been a separate event in and of itself. Coming out of the trophy room, Harry stopped Neville short, took a knee, and peeked his head out carefully at hip level.

“What is it, Hammer?”

“It’s the Weasleys again. They just appeared over there next to that statue of that really ugly looking witch.”

“Why are we hiding?”

“Because they’re moving too fast. We’ve been all up and down these corridors.” Harry followed them at the distance of a shadow in the setting sun before they turned away down a path that led toward the restricted section the headmaster had warned about. Neville began to protest as they began walking down the section, but in spite of that the Hammer kept going.

“We lost them. What the-”Harry scratched his head under his hat, stopping to look around. The only people left in the hall were himself and Neville. The Weasley twins had gone Houdini.

“Hamm-” Neville’s protests were interrupted by the loud meowing of a cat. The Hammer turned to look at it - if it hadn’t been in a magical school-castle, he would have thought it a stray.

“That’s Mrs. Norris! It’s Filch’s cat, Hammer! We’re going to be in  _ so _ much trouble if he catches us here!”

“Then hoof it, Nev!” he grabbed Neville by the arm and started running full tilt down the hallway.

“What’s that? Students in the restricted section?” Filch’s craggy voice carried loudly down the hall after them.

The door at the end of the hallway was locked, leaving the two stuck between a rock and a hard place, moving back and forth between each side of the hall hoping to find a way out.

“Stop right there you-” Filch’s yells were almost on them, but before the Hammer could formulate a new plan, he saw a tapestry thrown wide over him from the wall he had been standing next to. A pair of arms was lifting him backwards into darkness, one hand planted on his mouth to keep him quiet. The Hammer held onto his hat.

In the next moment, Harry found himself inside a darkened passage, staring at the grinning face of Fred Weasley. The twin held one of his hands on Harry’s mouth and the other with a single finger raised for silence. Over Fred’s shoulder, Neville was in a similar position, panicked struggling ceasing when he finally realized he hadn’t just been kidnapped by wall demons.

“Where’d they go, Mrs. Norris? You’re sure you saw them come this way?” Filch’s voice was right outside the opening they had been pulled through. He spent another tense handful of minutes searching the area futilely and talking to his cat before giving up and leaving - his one sided conversation with the feline carrying away down the hall.

“You absolute rascals,” The Hammer said with a grin on his face, “I knew you two were bootleggers.”

“Right in one, Monsieur Hammer.” Fred gave part of a theatrical bow in the cramped confines of the passage.

“Thanks for the save.” The Hammer fixed his hat.

“Oh, right, yeah, thank you.” Neville followed in.

“You’re welcome. It’s always a laugh coming and going as we please. You’ve got the stones and instinct for this, Hammer. George and I saw you coming after us down the hall, but when did you first notice?”

“You two were moving too fast. I was going round the corridors to learn the castle and you both just kept popping up.

“You Know,”

“For all our years”

“I think you’re the first”

“To figure us out this quickly.” The twins alternated their response.

“Do you have a map of the castle?” Harry asked.

“Trade secret, I’m afraid. Though I’m sure we can share a few good ones with you.”

The Hammer pulled out his partially completed map in his notebook and showed it to the twins, who immediately formed a two man huddle away from them under the light of one of their wands. Harry stood by with Neville, watching the twins make a few corrections before one of them produced a folded up piece of parchment and mumbling something before tapping it with his wand before continuing their work.

“I think these should be enough to get you started,” George told him as he handed back his notebook.

“Maybe one day you’ll get a chance at the full kit and kaboodle.” Fred winked, “Anyway, come on you two, best if we didn’t hang about here.”

The twins led the two first years down the dark passage until they reached its exit on the other side, a cabinet swinging open and revealing the junction between the trophy room and the armory hall.

“Wow.” Neville said as he stepped back out into the light with a look of surprise plastered on his face.

“I’d wager 300% more interesting than anything else anyone is doing today.” The Hammer commented.

“And with that, we’re off.” Fred and George bowed fully, “Remember us the next time you’re in need of… non-standard items and services!”

The Hammer looked at his notebook, seeing the corrections and extensions they had added to it - there were more pages of passages and notes than there had been of the base map he outlined. With Neville in tow, the remaining few floors went smoothly - more active classrooms, offices, lavatories, and the entrance to the library filled out the layout. With the task complete, they went into the Library.

Harry sat down heavily next to a stack of books with a cloud of bushy hair sticking out from behind it, the girl studying behind the makeshift privacy screen dwarfed by the height of the columns. Neville took more care not to disturb her, sitting down on the opposite side of her reading table, completely hidden to her. The Hammer reached for a loose volume laid at the base of the pile.

“Please don’t lose my bookmarks. I might need them in a minute.” He heard Hermione’s soft voice carry out from behind the heap of tomes.

“Hello to you too, doll.” She leaned out from the stack of books and glared daggers at him momentarily before going back to her reading. At least she hadn’t pinched him.

Harry flipped through the book noncommittally, it seemed to be a history of faberge eggs with magical properties. The marked ones were all about the size of the package at Gringotts.

“So did you get everything you wanted out of today’s excursion?” She finally spoke, her whispered voice barely carrying out from behind the books.

“The Hammer’s amazing!” Neville gushed his praise on the other side of Hermione’s tower, “I saw a ton of the castle today and we even got to go into some secret passages!”

“Harry! Did you get Neville into trouble?” She leaned out from the books again with an admonishing look.

“We didn’t break any rules - or at least we didn’t get caught doing so.” Hermione swatted at him like a cat at a canary.

“Ow! What!?” “You’re being a bad influence on poor Neville!”

“We made it out OK! Nobody got caught or hurt!”

“What if you do something that’ll make them expel you? What then?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.” She swatted at him again.

“No, Hermione, Hammer didn’t do anything wrong! We were just charting out the castle and ended up following the Weasley twins a bit!”

She redoubled her swatting, “You. Irresponsible. Mental. Absolute-” Harry finally caught her wrist.

“I get it, I get it, but they showed me some secret passages. They’re all over this castle.” The Hammer handed her his notebook. She took it from him and flipped through the pages of notes that he had taken from the day’s survey. Harry watched her eyes scrutinize the pages, growing wide as she saw the new venues that had been opened up to him. “There’s so many!” She said, flipping back and forth between references.

“And they told me that this is just a start. They’ve got even more up their sleeves and I want in on it.”

“You’ve got to tell one of the teachers! What if they involve you in one of their nefarious schemes!”

“I ain’t no fink, sweetheart. If you’re going to turn that in then give me my notebook back.” Harry grabbed onto the top of his notebook, but Hermione held firm, “What are you doing?”

“Promise me you’ll only use these if they’re absolutely necessary.” She said.

“You already know that we’re going to need them to solve the case!”

“You mean there’s a case going on right now? Can I help?” Neville spoke up, breaking their attention. They both looked over to him, confused.

“Er, you’re sure you want to help us with this?” Hermione made a grand motion with her hands at the books she had surrounded herself with.

“And you want to help me out with all the leg work like we did today? Just looking around for things and writing stuff down? Detective work isn’t always going to be glam and exciting you know.” Harry pushed his hat back a bit, raising the brim to get a clearer view.

“I get it,” Neville replied instantly, “I’m not afraid of hard work or of boring. I just want to be there to help out with it. There’s nothing happening with me that’s important, but if I can help you I think that would be a great way to pay you back.”

“Pay me back?” The Hammer pointed two fingers at his own chest.

“Oh no, Neville, no no no -” Hermione interjected sympathetically, “This can’t be about feeling obligated.”

“What even is it you think you owe me for?”

“I, well, that is - you helped me find Trevor and you did it so quickly.” Neville stuttered trying to come up with a response. It hadn’t occurred to Harry to even ask Neville for payment.

“Listen, finding Trevor wasn’t for-”

“Hi, sorry to interrupt but are you Harry Potter?” two boys, a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor, had walked up to their conversation, “Neville mentioned to us he’d be carousing with you today, but we actually wanted to talk to you ourselves.”

“Potter-Mason, actually, but call me the Hammer.”

“Not to be too much of a bother, but would you sign your name onto our club petition? You too,” he motioned toward Hermione, “ you’re Ms. Granger, right? We asked Professor McGonagall about all the other muggle borns in first year. I’m Dean Thomas, by the way.”

“And I’m Justin Finch-Fletchley.” The Hufflepuff boy spoke with perfect received pronunciation, “pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.” Hermione greeted them both, “but what is it that you’re starting this club for?’

“Oh, right, we’re forming a Muggle Culture Appreciation Club. Really, it’s kind of a fancy excuse for all of us who are missing all the stuff from home to talk about it and share the latest. Personally I’m missing watching Top of the Pops.” Dean Thomas explained.

“Right, and I was always partial to a bit of Blackadder myself, but we thought it might be a good place to bring all of us together to have people to discuss it with.”

“Brilliant,” Hermione said, “But who were you thinking of getting as the faculty sponsor?”

“We were thinking about asking that new American professor, Mr. Longbaugh. He  _ is _ teaching the Muggle Studies class now and I think it’d be a great start to the year.” Dean spoke in earnest.

“Sounds grand, lads. I’ll put my name to it.” Harry pulled out his well chewed fountain pen and began undoing the cap.

“See? Even little things like that,” Justin pointed at the Hammer’s pen, “I still don’t quite understand the obsession with quills and dip bottles here. I feel we’re putting on airs.”

Harry handed his pen to Hermione to let her sign the parchment. “You think even pureblood wizards can show up to this club? I think Nev would get a kick out of it.”

“By all means. It’d be great to explain muggle media at the next meeting.” Neville beamed at being included.

“We’ll try to have everything up and running by the end of the first week after classes are concluded. I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.” The two boys bid the trio farewell.

“I sure hope nobody else has seen or read the Maltese Falcon.” The Hammer remarked.


	10. Chapter 10

“Is that him?”

“They say he calls himself The Hammer.”

“Where’d he get that name? Is he really Harry Potter?”

“Potter-Mason is what someone said, he hides the scar under that hat.”

“Do you think the hat’s magic?”

The rumours and gossip surrounding Harry started almost immediately after he had gotten up. It was the first day of classes and in spite of his best efforts, relatively few people actually called him The Hammer - or even acknowledged that his name was Potter-Mason rather than their figurehead hero, Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Harry was used to the stares - dressing like Bogart tended to bring those on in the age of MTV and car phones - but he wasn’t used to the hushed awe and admiration. There were rumours floating abound how he was the chosen one - someone even Rowena Ravenclaw might even pass her diadem to for how clever he was meant to be.

In reality, Harry figured he got on alright - above average but he wasn’t going to win any awards for it. That honor fell to Hermione: no matter the subject, she was already ready for it and easily rocketed past everyone to the top of the mount. If there was a queen of the library or empress of academics, the Hammer was sure it would be her. She had the incandescence of the noon-time sun every time she received house points for being helpful and knowledgeable, and even before the end of the first week Harry was convinced she was leading the school, much less just the Ravenclaws.

“Right, welcome back to Charms class everyone,” Professor Flitwick greeted them from atop a pile of books he was standing on, beaming at all the blue and yellow trimmed students. It was a doubles class of nothing but Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, “Since the majority of you have mastered the levitation charm Wingardium Levioasa, we’ll be moving on today to the wand-lighting spell whose incantation is Lumos with the counter incantation of Nox.” The small statured man demonstrated with a deft flick of his wand, creating a bright white light like a torch at the end of his wand and then extinguishing it. Harry was part of the group that had managed to lift more than a feather with the previous class’s spell, but Hermione had gone from lifting the feather to other students by the end of the last class.

Reading from the Goshawk text, he attempted to emulate the proscribed method, producing some light sparks from the tip of his wand but not much else. This repeated for a while. Frustrated, he turned to see Hermione already with clear, bright torchlight at the end of her wand.

“Hey, sister, what am I doing wrong?” He turned and asked her. She cast the counter-incantation and came over to him. Stopping in front of him, she stood with her arms crossed and a mildly sour expression on her face.

“Well?” She asked.

“I was kind of expecting that you’d hit me before helping me, but - “ He tried the spell again. The bit of sparks at the end of his wand splayed out like a cheap sparkler, points of blue and white light fizzling out on the floor.

“Your wrist movement needs work.” She grabbed his wand hand and dragged it through the motions, “like this. The book describes it as a flick of the wrist, but I like to think of it like sparking a fire.”

She let go of his hand and let him try again on his own. Remembering a scouting trip from the previous year, Harry gave the wand a flick and watched it come to life with a solid point of white light warming the tip of his wand.

“See? Simple, right? Just a change in perspective was all you needed.” She said.

“I suppose so, sweetheart. Thanks for that.” She gave him a light tap on the back of the head with her wand.

“That was for both of those.”

“Oh, wonderful Ms. Granger, 5 points to Ravenclaw!” Professor Flitwick saw her conclude her tutoring, “Do keep it up! If you would please go help the students who are still having issues with the Levitation charm.” 

Hermione smiled at the professor and faded from Harry’s side with a swish of her robes, leaving him to go back to practising. About mid way through the class, the Hammer figured he could confidently cast the charm without much trouble. It wasn’t long after until he had a fresh new idea swirling in his mind.

“Excuse me, Professor?” Harry raised his hand after setting his wand down on the desk.

“Yes, what is it, Mr. Potter?” Flitwick turned his attention from presiding over another group of people being tutored.

“Is it possible to cast Lumos in different colors? Maybe even in a different kind of light?”

“Of course, thoroughly possible, though most of the time tinted lights haven’t been terribly useful. Some modifiers which I believe are more popular are Solem, for sunlight, or Maxima for much brighter light. What is it you’re looking to try, Mr. Potter?”

“I was wondering if there was a way to make it black-light. The kind that lets you make liquids glow.”

“Hrm.” Flitwick put both hands on his hips and looked skyward, thinking. He began to stroke his moustache in deep thought before looking down at the tomes at his feet. “Oh! Yes!”

The Professor scrambled off the stack of books and began to tear apart the pile before triumphantly pulling a voluminous codex out above his head and handing it to Harry with much difficulty. “I believe you’ll find what you’re looking for in this volume, Mr. Potter. Though I won’t have a chance to help you interpret it - please rely on your classmates if you need any help.”

The little man tottered away and began to rebuild his book-based watchtower before walking the aisles between the seats to assist other students who were having more trouble with learning the two spells they had been taught thus far. The Hammer opened up the volume and immediately ran into a wall - it was written in Scripto Continua Latin.

“Oh for the love of-” Harry took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair before looking at the ceiling with an expression that read  _ Are you kidding me? _

“Oh! Is that a classic magical codex? That’s so fascinating!” Hermione had appeared over his shoulder with nary a sound.

“ Looks like it. I can’t make heads or tails of it.” She leaned over him further, placing a hand on the page and tracing the first line with the tip of her fingers.

“Well, you’re right at the beginning so this is the introduction - something about how the author wrote the book to document his research into light and dark and… their relevance to common use.”

Harry turned to take a better look at her concentrating face, “Wait a minute, you read this fencepost Latin?”

“Not as well as I’d like, I only just picked it up over this past summer while I was splitting my time with Greek.” The Hammer felt like he should reach down and try and figure out how far his jaw had landed. “Ah, here it is - light and its modifications” She held her finger over what would separate out into LVMOS if it hadn’t been trapped between the rest of the jumble of letters.

“Here.” She slid the book over and took a seat next to him, turning pages to the section that was outlined in the table of contents. He looked over her shoulder as she traced the densely packed letters with her hand, mouthing the words near silently to herself. A moment later she got up without announcing anything, walking back to her seat to get parchment and a quill and coming back to the codex.

“Is there-” Harry started to ask, but she held up her finger at him commanding silence. He took his hat off and set it on the desk in front of him, watching her work. She wrote in her dainty, flowing script in fits and bursts, sometimes turning back to the codex to decipher more of its instructions. After filling the piece of parchment with translated instructions, Hermione pushed away the codex and closed it.

“So what’ve you got?” He asked.

“Well, the methodology doesn’t seem super complicated - I think we just add certain modifiers to the base spell, but there’s only certain words that have been tested to be stable with modern wand theory. What was it that you wanted to try?”

“I was thinking of trying to get the wand to emit blacklight, though I don’t know if these professors would even be familiar with the visible versus invisible light spectrum.”

Hermione scanned the page with the tip of her finger, “This one seems to say something about a royal light, like the glow of native Phoenicia.” She brought up her wand, giving it the same flick as she spoke the words, “Lumos Purpura!”

Her wand lit up with a reddish purple light, close to the tone that the Hammer was thinking of, but not quite. “I think that’d be great for a party, but it doesn’t look like it’ll be useful.” he said.

She extinguished the light and found another candidate, “Lumos Viola!” A clear, purple light came from the end of her wand.

“Seems like we’re getting closer. That’s definitely purple, but I wonder if there’s something else. You know how black lights are mostly UV? Maybe look to see if the author mentioned anything about a kind of light that makes liquids glow.” Hermione slid the paper in front of him, showing the list and descriptions she had translated earlier. Most of the list didn’t look like winners. “Were these all the modifications you found?”

“Yes. The next page went on to talk about fire spells.”

Harry traced a finger down her list and picked one that seemed particularly ominous sounding, “Lumos Tenebrosus!”

Hermione’s teeth glowed spectrally bluish under the new light being emitted from his wand. To his own embarrassment, the place where he had wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robes also glowed under the new light.

“Harry, this is it!” She cried as he put the light out.

“Well done, Mr. Potter! Absolutely stunning show to you as well, Ms. Granger! 15 points apiece to Ravenclaw!” Professor Flitwick was beside himself watching their research progression. Hermione looked like she had just won witch of the year. The Hammer put his hat back on.

In contrast to their successes in Charms, Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall turned out to be an entirely different beast. 

“This will be the first, single, final, and only warning you all will receive about the seriousness of my class. We are changing one thing to another and in the very nature of transfiguration lies inherent dangers greater than any other type of magic taught at this school. Any of you who choose to ignore this warning and not take the class seriously will be asked to leave and never return, do I make myself clear?” She had said as soon as they sat down for their first class. Promptly thereafter, she turned the desk into a pig and back again. The Hammer had a feeling that she was a big fan of shock and awe to prove her point. She had fed the pig a handful of oats before changing it back. Harry wondered where the oats went when it became a desk again.

The initial exercise presented in the first class of changing a matchstick into a needle had been allotted a full two weeks of classroom time to allow for them to succeed. By the end of their first, it seemed like Hermione was the only one to make significant progress: her matchstick had already gone silver and the bulb end had a hole in it. On the other hand, Harry had managed to make his a bit pointier, but not much else. He felt like he spent more time staring at it and staring at the textbook trying to unravel the secrets of the universe than actually attempting to do the magic. The Professor had told them that transfiguration at its core was less about precise wand movements like Charms and more conceptualization of two items’ essence; which to the Hammer sounded like someone was trying to sell him something from the funny pages.

In addition to the practical homework of continuing their attempts in transfiguring the matchstick, Professor McGonagall also assigned a paper whose word count was measured in inches. It boggled the Hammer’s mind - he wondered when it was that he had traveled back to the 17th century, but on the other hand it gave him the perfect excuse to try out his birthday present. 

After making it to the library and taking notes out of the reference materials needed to complete his first paper of the term, the Hammer went back to his dorm room and grabbed the case from his luggage. Away from Ravenclaw tower, he had found a disused classroom with no sign of Peeves and set up the typewriter, reeling in a sheet of parchment onto the platen. So far so good. The first keystroke was the first step into uncharted territory - the sound of the type arm striking paper seemed to echo throughout the empty room like the crashing of a cymbal. The letter T impressed in black ink on the parchment was a victory for ingenuity. The Hammer was shivering with excitement, he wanted to get up and jump, but restrained himself to type out the rest of the word.

With the notes he had taken, writing the paper had come easily and within a few hours his work was near done, which would leave him plenty of time to finish it before next week. He sat back, leaning back on the rear legs of the chair and tipping his hat back to admire his handiwork. Reaching into his pocket, he brought out his father’s brass lighter and began to play with it in his hands, flipping it open and shut with satisfying metallic sounds. When he had finally gotten bored of it, he let the chair set back down and stared at the open lighter in his hand. With a deep breath, he pressed his thumb down on the flint wheel and watched the sparks fly onto the wick. A cheery golden flame danced to life within the chimney.


	11. Chapter 11

Not every class went as well. The Hammer’s first Friday at Hogwarts came in before he had realized it. The morning rush of mail owls had brought in his copy of the Daily Prophet, a subscription confirmation form to the Wizarding World News along with the day’s copy, and a letter from Hagrid. Harry popped it open and asked the owl to wait while he took a bite out of a sausage and read it,

“Hammer,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer with the owl that brought this letter.

Hagrid”

Harry wrote “Sounds great. See you then!” with his fountain pen just after Hagrid’s signature, folded the note and fed the owl the remainder of his sausage before setting it back on its way. 

“Any plans for this afternoon?” Harry asked Hermione between sips at his mug of tea.

“No, why?”

“I just told Hagrid I’d come over for tea after classes at three or so. Any interest?”

She nodded affirmatively to avoid talking through her mouthful of food. Before he had a chance to even unfold his copy of the Prophet or the WWN, there was a tapping on his shoulder.

“Hey Hammer, our potions class today is doubles with our houses. Want to walk to class together?” Neville had gotten up to ask him.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.” He agreed, “See how much easier it is after we mapped out this place?”

Neville nodded, “Yeah, I’m glad I went with you, but I’m still not looking forward to having to go back down into the dungeons. There’s just something not right about being that far underground.”

“Better get used to it, otherwise it’s gonna be a long year.”

The Potions classroom was in a part of the castle dungeons adjacent to the Slytherin common room. The entire sublevel of the castle was cooler - to the point where the Hammer wondered if it was just the way the castle was built or if there was magical refrigeration going on somewhere. Hermione had mentioned that the layout of the Slytherin common room extended out partially into the lake, so that would have explained the difference in temperature. All Harry knew was that he would have to find a nice nook somewhere during the summer months to avoid the heat.

The classroom itself was a visual assault of glass jars full of unidentifiable pickled things that made it feel more cramped than it already was. Harry grabbed a seat next to Neville, taking note of a gargoyle in the corner that seemed to be the class’s source of water as it vomited a constant stream into a font at its feet. The rest of the class seated themselves and remained relatively quiet - there was an oppressive air to the room that kept them waiting with bated breath. The door slammed shut behind them, causing all heads to turn and look as the professor glided in soundlessly across the cool stones.

Snape was more intimidating up close - he had a kind of unkemptness that was rebellious in the face of how easy it would have been to clean himself up with magic. His long black robes were faded with wear and stained with what the Hammer assumed were decoction reagents in no particular pattern. Harry watched him with a singular focus, the tips of his fingers rubbing the scar above his eye, wondering if he would feel the same pain he had at the banquet when Snape made eye contact with him. He kept his gaze fixed at the man’s eyeline, but the sensation never returned.

The man’s face had an animal cruelty to it, eyes darting between students with objective disdain as he began calling out for attendance. When he reached the Hammer, he paused.

“Ah, yes,” he spoke at a level barely audible, but Harry could feel his condescension, “Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity.” The Hammer returned his gaze. He had learned not to back down even if it was an adult staring you down.

Professor Snape made no more issue of it and finished calling out the rest of the students before setting the roster aside.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making.” He began, his voice still only just audible, but to the silent students it rang as loud as an impassioned sermon, “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Hermione seemed to be more than eager to prove that she was better than any dunderhead. The Hammer kept his hands clasped on the desk, waiting.

“Potter! Take that ridiculous hat off. Five points from Ravenclaw for breaking the uniform code.” Harry maintained eye contact with him, feeling the stares of his classmates as he took his fedora off and placed it into the pouch on his belt. He bit his tongue to hold in a comment.  _ So this was how it was going to be. _

“Well then, Potter, since you so duly believe that you seem to be excused from the standards of your peers, what do you get when adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” 

Hermione’s hand jumped into the air eagerly in Harry’s peripheral vision.

“That’s part of the recipe for the Draught of Living Death.” Harry replied. Snape’s eye twitched.

“Then where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Harry turned to see that Hermione looked like she was about to levitate out of her seat by how high she had raised her hand. The Hammer pointed at the shelf behind the professor, “In that jar labeled bezoars, but otherwise if you want a fresh one I’d have to find a goat.”

“Correct, but that will be another five points from Ravenclaw for disrespect and sarcasm, Potter.” Snape sneered. The Hammer crumpled a piece of parchment under his hand and continued to glare at the professor. This was personal.

“One final question for our resident genius,” Snape leaned into the last word with as much sarcasm as he could manage, “What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“They’re both aconite. A poison in the right usage.” The Hammer almost seethed between his teeth. Hermione had stopped bouncing up and down to answer questions and was instead staring at him with concern.

“A barely passing knowledge, Potter, but you would do well to work on your humility. Well, why aren’t you all copying this down?” A general rush toward quills and parchment broke tension that had been hanging in the air, but it left the Hammer wondering what it was that Snape had against him.

The Professor strode out with muffled steps from behind the dais and began the lesson by pairing them with their seating partners and set them at creating a simple cure for boils. Harry soon realised that he would have to watch out for Neville’s work - there was a certain clumsy brashness to his actions as he skimmed the pages that would have invariably led to disaster if the Hammer hadn’t been watching like a hawk.

“No, Nev, don’t stoke the fire with your wand like that! You’re gonna burn the slugs.”

“Sorry, Hammer.”

“Just be patient, that’s all.”

And only a few steps after that Harry had grabbed Neville’s hand with both of his to prevent him from adding a fistful of porcupine quills to the bubbling mix too soon.

“Nev! We gotta take it off the fire before we throw those in. There’s a warning a line later about how you’ll punch a hole through the table if you boil the quills in this stuff. Who knows what it’ll do if it gets on you!”  
Neville looked dejectedly away, “Why don’t you do the rest on your own, Hammer? I can’t get anything right.” 

Harry grabbed him by the upper arm, “Neville, you’ve been the one making this potion. All I’ve done is keep you from hurting yourself accidentally. Look at me.” He gave him a shake, “All you have to do is read along with the directions before you do it. It’s as easy as cooking.”

Neville looked up from the floor at Harry, “It’s just like at home, I’m no good at anything.”

“Then choose to be better! All you gotta do is give it a go and be careful about it! I don’t give a rat’s how slow we’re going, but right now we’re playing for stakes a little higher than before. They’re only going to get higher so buck up and get that cauldron off the fire. When I read directions to you, repeat them back to me before you do them. Careful is the name of the game.” 

The Hammer gave him a winning smirk. A slow smile crept across Neville’s face in response.

“You got it, Hammer.” He said before using his wand to extinguish the flame underneath the cauldron.

“Charming. But there is no room for unprofessional nicknames in this school.” Professor Snape had been standing off to the side, watching their interaction, “Five points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.” He disappeared before either of them could voice protest.

The colour drained from Neville’s face while it rose in Harry’s. The Hammer wanted to throw his hat at the ground and start yelling, but he had already put his fedora away and it didn’t look quite as dramatic without the first step. Neville looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.

“Nev, let’s make the best cure for boils this school has ever seen and then I need you to stay behind with me after class.”

“Er, why, Ham- Harry?”

“I’m going to need witnesses.”

Rousing Neville back to action and completing the potion wasn’t terribly difficult, but because they had simmered it over long in the middle it had lost some of the sheen an otherwise excellent potion would have. Snape paced between all the students, observing and judging the most minute details of their actions, criticizing all of it. The word on the street was that he favored his own house heavily and if they had been in a class with Slytherins, all the green trimmed students would be receiving what passed as praise with him. The end of class left all the students feeling stunned and worse for wear, though the quality of the potion that the Hammer had made with Neville earned the slightest of nods and a quiet, begrudging, “Acceptable.” from Professor Snape.

Harry packed up and stayed seated, watching Neville do the same. On her way out, Hermione looked back and made eye contact with Harry, her expression a question. He moved his hand to gesture that he was OK, but voiced nothing to give away what he intended. She took a step toward the exit, but looked back once more before leaving the room at his signed urging.

“Something wrong, Potter?” The Professor looked up from his desk, dark eyes boring a hole into Harry.

“I just wanted to get to the bottom of something, Professor.”

“Make it quick.”

“Why do you hate me? Did I do something to offend you in the hour and ten minutes we’ve been in each other’s presence? Did James and/or Lily Potter do something to you?”

Snape narrowed his eyes, setting down the quill he had been taking notes with,

“I know it is a Ravenclaw predilection to solve everything that might seem to be a challenging puzzle, but immediately attempting to invade the privacy of others without basis for accusation is an infraction you may soon regret.”

“I’m not the one that made it personal, Professor. You’re the one who started by singling me out in front of the class without necessity or cause. People don’t do that without a good reason - unless you’re working for the Dark Lord, or one of those other snivelling bureaucrats who wanted their piece of this burnt kingdom, or one of my biological parents hurt you. I think the latter is more likely. So who was it? James? Lily?” The Hammer continued to match the professor’s gaze. The feeling of a weight being lifted had happened at some point when he realized whatever that pain in his scar had been, his interaction with this professor was probably a coincidence.

Snape glowered at Harry the entire time he had been talking, an almost undetectable twitch in his eye at the name of James Potter gave the Hammer something to lean into.

“Seems more like it was my father, right, Professor? James Potter? Gryffindor team Chaser? Award winner?” He gave weight to the last idea, goading the professor.

The grimace on Snape’s face had deepend, the frown lines deep as canyons, “Your father was a swine and you’re just as much of one as him with your arrogance and causal disregard for rules, Potter. Five more points from Ravenclaw for your sheer insolence.” Neville began to tug on Harry’s arm, begging for him to leave while he was only a little behind.

“My father,” The Hammer paused a beat, “is Grant Mason. Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard. If you want to blame someone for shaping me into what I am, you can take it up with him. I never knew James Potter.”

Harry turned to leave, the relief on Neville’s face was palpable. Out in the hallway, the Hammer found the nearest free wallspace and leaned his head against it, feeling the coolness of the subterranean stone.

“You know, Neville, that’s probably the most stressed I’ve been in a classroom in a while.”

“You were amazing in there, Hammer! I thought for sure he was going to do something crazy! I don’t remember the last time I was that afraid of something happening with a professor.”

“Thanks for sticking through it with me.”

They paused at the sound of patent black mary janes hurrying down the dungeon corridor, the click-clack of the heels headed toward them. Hermione had come back.

“Harry! Neville! What are you two still doing down here? I thought for sure that you’d done something rash again.”

The Hammer started laughing, causing Neville to join in with his hysteria. It was a moment of catharsis, breaking down the tension they had felt staring down the professor.

“-see Nev? You lived!” The Hammer kept laughing, causing Neville to redouble his own. Hermione stared at the both of them, a bemused smile growing on her face trying to figure out what it was the two were laughing about.

Once the two had recovered their composure, Harry started to walk out of the dungeon, explaining to Hermione what he had just done, drawing out his hat from his pouch and putting it back on. By the time he was done, she looked the same shade as a cartoon kettle about to boil, her hands looking like they wanted to strangle him for his trouble. Harry let Hermione wallow in her astonishment as they walked, extending the invitation to Neville for tea with Hagrid in the afternoon. To their surprise, he declined, saying that the Hufflepuffs had other plans in the meanwhile. The group parted ways til after lunch, giving Harry the time to change from his robes back to his trusty trench coat. Classes were over and by the rules, the Hammer could wear whatever he wanted.

While the Hammer reviewed his notes at his bedside after his mid day meal, his Prefect, Robert Hilliard, came into the first-years dorms, a set to his jaw looking like he meant business.

“Harry, Professor Flitwick just told me that you’ve lost points for Ravenclaw today.”

“By my count, I think I came out even.” Harry replied to him, looking up from cutting out an article from his copy of the WWN.

“But you’re putting yourself in a position to lose points all the same.”

“Listen, Bobby, the whole house cup competition is a school spirit sham anyway. The cup doesn’t mean squat. Everyone who’s got more than two bits invested in this racket has already rearranged the schedules so that the professors for their houses are exposed to their students more often. Imagine how many points we’d win if you could get Hermione in front of Flitwick for 6 hours every week.”

His prefect was flabbergasted, giving Harry the time to pack up his notes for the case. By the time he had finished closing the lid on his trunk, Hilliard had regained his composure,

“You know what, I’m just going to put my foot down and tell you to do your utmost to keep us from losing any more points. From what I hear you called in a Hufflepuff to witness you goading a professor, Snape of all people, into an argument!”

“I can’t help whatever Snape is up to, the man’s got a grudge against me specifically.”

“Then you should’ve brought it to me or Professor Flitwick before you just barged in there and started a fight with him!”

“That’s just how The Hammer does it.” Harry said, putting his hat back on and picking up his coat from the bed before checking his watch, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an appointment with Hagrid at three. Unless you’ve got something to say about that as well?”

Robert Hilliard had never met a first year this obstinate. Robert’s mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to come up with words as the Hammer put his coat on and walked by him.

Having had time to review the day’s latest news, it was all something that the Hammer needed to run by Hermione and Neville. If they were his investigation team, then hearing what theories they might have about the item hidden on school grounds would be worth listening to. He met Hermione in the common room not long after and they made their way out and across the castle grounds. Hagrid lived in a quaint little house on a plot of land adjacent to the Forbidden Forest, the thin streak of black smoke coming up from his chimney a beacon to his location. Harry took a moment to appreciate the enormous pumpkins that were coming along in the plot next to his house, taking note of a crossbow and a pair of mud-caked galoshes that were set just outside his front door.

Knocking on the door produced a frantic scrabbling of claws on stone followed by a series of barks that shook the dust out of the eaves. “Alright, calm down yeh.” Hagrid’s voice sounded from inside. A moment later his gigantic, bushy face peered out after peeking the door open before closing it again and saying “Back, Fang! Git yerself back!”

Hagrid let them in, holding on to the collar on an enormous black, boarhound - a dog that by Harry’s reckoning was scaled to Hagrid’s own size. The cabin was a one room affair with a variety of preserved meats and vegetables hanging from the ceiling with a copper kettle boiling away merrily on the open flame in his hearth, opposite the other corner of the room where a gigantic bed covered in a patchwork quilt was tucked away.

“Make yerselves at home,” Hagrid told them, letting go of Fang to tend to the kettle. The dog bounded for Hermione, licking her face in great swipes with his tongue in greeting. Like its owner, the Hammer thought it was a big softie on the inside.

“This is Hermione Granger,” Harry introduced her since all he could see was Fang’s backside framed by her bushy hair.

“Oh, nice ter meet yeh, glad Hammer’s been making friends.” Hagrid replied as he poured the boiling water into a teapot that looked like it might hold a gallon before setting out rock cakes onto a plate. Sitting down in one of his spare chairs made Harry feel even smaller than he usually did in an adult’s world, everything in his hut was scaled for Hagrid’s own enormity and it made Harry feel like he was the size of a doll.

The cakes were hard enough to break their teeth on, but Harry and Hermione gummed at them anyway out of politeness, dunking them in the tea and washing down the few morsels they managed to break off with sips of the strong brew. The two children discussed their first week of lessons, with Hermione taking the lead in her fascination with the course material, talking through entire lungfuls of air before coming up for breath as she turned blue explaining beginner magical theory with a depth and passion that they found pleasantly charming. Hagrid nibbled consistently through his rock cakes with powerful motions of his jaw that made Harry wonder if he made them that tough on purpose.

Harry cracked an appreciative smile when Hagrid referred to Filch as ‘that old git’.

“An as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I’d like ter introduce her to Fang some time. D’yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can’t get rid of her - bet Filch puts her up to it.”

“I had something like that happen-” the Hammer told the story about his interaction with the Weasley Twins before school started, much to Hagrid’s delight.

“Good on yeh, Hammer.” Hagrid said with a chuckle, much to Hermione’s concern, “Though I’d keep the twins at arms length. Spent half me life chasin’ em away from the forest ‘fore they get hurt. I’d be a mite more careful - yeh heard about all that nonsense with the quidditch team and the OWLs from last year.”

“Personally, I think they’re irresponsible.” Hermione said with a huff.

Harry told the story about his run in with Professor Snape, starting with how he had behaved in class and then to the stare down they had afterward. Even on the second retelling, Hermione looked like she was going to slap Harry as hard as she could for jeopardizing his status in school.

“Yeh don’ need teh worry, Hammer. Professor Snape… he’s just like that.”

“But that’s what I want to understand, Hagrid. My father did something to him that’s got him holding a grudge, and I want to know what.”

“Harry, James - he was a grand Gryffindor by the time we were friends - but…”

Harry’s expression had gone dark, “But he wasn’t always a good man. They never are.” The Hammer took a swig of tea, catching some waterlogged morsels of rock cake in the liquid.

“That brings me to something else, Hagrid.” The large man grunted affirmatively from behind his mug, “There was an article in the Prophet today that’s confirmed by the WWN about a break in at Gringotts on my birthday - back on 31 July - where someone broke into a vault that had been emptied out earlier in the day.”

Hagrid did a small spit take that rebounded out of the mug and onto his unkempt beard.

“It was the thing you brought to Hogwarts, wasn’t it? They’re looking for it. Whoever they are - agents of the Dark Lord or just one of these contemporary schmucks.”

“Harry! What are you accusing Hagrid of?” Hermione checked his push.

“Nothing, I just wanted to know what it is that’s being kept locked up in the 3rd floor corridor.”

Hagrid did another spit take, this time drenching Fang who yowled his response before loping out the opening he used as a doggy door.

“That package is perfectly safe! Hogwarts is the safest place fer anythin’ down pat. So long as Professor Dumbledore is here nothing can go wrong.” Hagrid denied.

“What is the thing, Hagrid? What did Professor Dumbledore send you to get?”

“That’s between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel.” Hagrid said and immediately regretted it, “I shouldn’a said that. Can we please stop talkin’ about it?”

“I’m just trying to prevent an inside job!” Harry protested, “What if Snape tries to steal it?”

“Rubbish! Snape’s one of the professors guarding it! You say summat like that again outside proper company and it’s likely to cause trouble.” Hagrid replied, waving his hand to dismiss Harry’s accusation, “I got a question for both of you, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I know yer both a little young, and it’s just barely the beginning of the term, but are you two,” he made a motion between the two of them, pointing with two fingers, “dating or summat like that?”

It was Harry’s turn to do a spit take, “What? No!” 

Hermione smacked him. She had turned a light shade of pink.

“You wanted me to say yes?” He asked her, incredulously. 

She smacked him again. She was as red as a stop sign.

“There’s no right answer, is there!?”


	12. Chapter 12

Hagrid had distracted them long enough for Harry to realize what time it was. The Hammer took a look at his watch and politely told Hagrid that they were expected for a club meeting back up at the castle. He and Hermione took their leave, walking back up to the front entrance with a few rock cakes in their pockets they had been too polite to decline, bantering about the new developments in the case that Harry hadn’t filled her in on yet. The Muggle Studies classroom was on the first floor of the castle, the two rooms dedicated to the subject tucked amongst the rest of the others. The Hammer had passed by it in his original cartography expedition, but the doors had been locked.

The light from within the class along with the noise of friendly chatter told them that people were already there. Opening up the door to the classroom revealed it full of students - more than the standard class size, which resulted in some having to stand in their cloistered groups. The Hammer caught glimpse of some bunny-ear antennas sticking out from behind a group of students, the tinny speakers of a wood-framed television playing the noises of what he immediately recognised as the “Knight Rider” theme. 

“Wow, I didn’t realize there were so many muggle-born students at school!” Hermione gasped as she took in the room. From a different huddle around a disassembled crystal radio, Neville looked up and waved at the two before walking to them.

“Hammer, Hermione! You made it! This muggle stuff is just so weird!” He greeted them, “You should come meet Professor Longbaugh!”

Neville wove them through the crowd of students towards the teacher’s desk where the Professor was lounging with his feet up on the table, cowboy boots stacked one atop the other. Longbaugh noticed the trio walking to him, taking his feet down and standing up.

“Professor, these are my friends, Harry and Hermione.” Neville began.

“Pleased to meet you,” the Professor shook Hermione’s hand before turning to Harry.

“Nice hat.” Harry tugged on the rim of his hat to the Professor before extending his hand to shake.

“Same to you.” Longbaugh said with a smirk, “anyway like I told Neville before, feel free to browse and socialize - there’s some food on the table over yonder since I know y’all are missing dinner to come to this.”

The Professor gestured toward the corner where a spread of food that looked like it had materialized straight from the kitchen was laid out. Looking at the food, Harry’s stomach growled and the two gladly accepted his offer, going over and loading up a plate full of sandwiches and sides before wandering between the various huddles. Aside from the television and the radio, there was a small group reading through letters, newspapers, and magazines their parents had sent with the latest developments from the outside world, most of it encompassed in heated discussion about football. There was a pang of distant nostalgia - despite the fact that they had only just left the regular world behind there was something to the pieces that were being toyed with around the room.

“Professor, how’d you get these things to work here? Before I came, they told me that muggle technology doesn’t work here.” Harry walked over to ask, indicating the television set and the radio.

“Oh? That was actually a weekend project, I had to run some enchantments through them so they’d work here on the school grounds.” Longbaugh moved some items on his desk so that Harry could set his plate down and with a flick of his wrist pulled a chair over to them from the other side of the class.

“So you’re Harry Potter?” The Professor asked.

“Potter-Mason, actually. My aunt adopted me after my birth-parents died. She and her husband Grant raised me. But you can call me The Hammer.”

“Nice. Must be a culture shock coming to school and being told you’re some kind of hero.”

Harry looked up at him, eyes wide and shimmering like he had just put in glycerin drops.

“You’re the first person to ask it that way.” The Hammer said.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t think us Americans would’ve stood for some Dark Lord running around causing havoc like that.”

“What would you have done to solve the problem?”

“Probably shoot him.” Longbaugh said matter-of-factly. The Hammer looked at the revolver in the Professor’s holster while he chewed on his sandwich. Elsewhere in the room, Hermione was explaining radio waves and frequencies to Neville.

“Is that-” Harry motioned at the Professor’s gunbelt.

“This?” Longbaugh drew out the Single Action Army, spinning the cylinder so Harry could see that it was empty. “This is magical. Was actually one of my graduation capstone projects back in college. The cylinder’s enchanted.”

“To do what?”

“This and that.”

“Now you’re just being evasive, Professor.”

“I find that it always pays to be just a little bit mysterious.” The cowboy said with a wink.

“Do American wizarding schools teach you to do magic with a wand?” Harry continued questioning.

“Yeah, of course. It’s some kind of a standard in the western world these days. Personally I went out of my way to practice doing everything without a wand since I think it’s a crutch. You don’t need a stick to make things happen, but for some reason all these wizarding graduate schools insist that you need to use one to make things happen ‘just right’.” The Professor said with a note of contempt in his voice.

“So why do you dress up like a cowboy, little weird isn't it?”

“Kid, you dress up like Bogart. You don’t have a lot of room to talk. But have you noticed how all of these old wizards dress? Wearing clothes from the old west is probably on the more normal end of the scale for things you can do as an adult.”

“Point taken, I can see why Dumbledore said that you’d be bringing a different perspective to teaching that class.”

“I already had one of the older Ravenclaws writing lines. ‘Guns are not wands’. Five hundred times, though I probably should’ve given it to him a thousand times just to send the point home.”

The Hammer laughed. “Funny how foreign it is to them, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say. For a society that seems to be just about fresh off of an entire magical war, nobody seems to have learned anything from it.”

When Harry finished his food, he rejoined his friends, talking to Neville about the highlights to some of his favorite television shows, like Miami Vice or Magnum, P.I. Hermione scoffed at Harry’s selection in prime time television while Neville was astounded with the idea that Muggles had managed to create recordings beyond live stage productions and broadcast them to a wide audience. The Hammer promised Neville that one of these days he would find a copy of his favorite film noir classics to show him. The rest of the meeting was a fun filled romp with their peers, talking about some of the little things from home they noticed the absence of in wizarding life and some of the feistier developments in their favorite television programmes.

Justin Finch-Fletchley and Dean Thomas gathered everyone’s attention to the front, announcing their thanks for the attendance and the wrap-up for the meeting. It had been a great success and with their friends’ attendance an eighth of the meeting had been pure-blood wizards looking to expand their horizons about the Muggle world and find out all about ‘tee vee’. Professor Longbaugh vanished the food with a wave of his hand before thanking everyone for coming to the meeting, giving them the standard teacher’s warning to head right back to their respective dorms before he began his shift on night duty. That night, the Hammer slept a deep dreamless sleep, a feeling of contentment and balance about the life he left behind and the life he was living at school finally coalescing.

***

A notice posted in the common room at the foot of the statue stated that flying lessons began the next week for first years and it would be an all-house inclusive affair. Harry didn’t take this news well - he was already nervous about using a bundle of sticks tied to a larger stick as his floatation device through open space. Hermione hadn’t helped his anxiety either, reading obsessively through beginner’s guides and trying to talk with every other student she could about it. A smattering of the older Ravenclaws had tried to assuage her worries, but eventually realised she wouldn’t stop circling and left her to her own devices.

The Hammer had mentioned his worries to Neville, only to find that his family had explicitly prevented him from ever having a go on one even in a controlled environment. It was a reasonable assumption from his guardians - if they assumed he would fail, it was easier for them to maintain his incompetence. Harry wasn’t a fan of it.

Harry found that he would spend more time in the mornings sitting with Hermione, their backs to Neville so that they could turn around and discuss the day’s news in the morning papers - something that wasn’t explicitly work related so that the Prefects would leave them alone. During the morning’s deliveries, Harry received his subscriptions and Hermione a letter from her parents, but behind them Neville had received a small package from his grandmother. He dug it open and Harry could practically hear the slouch in his back when he produced a glass ball the size of a golf ball filled with ethereal white smoke.

“It’s a Remembrall…” he explained, “Gran knows I forget things - it’s meant to remind you if you’ve forgotten something. You hold on to it and the smoke turns a shade of…” The smoke inside of it had swirled outward with a shade of vermillion, “red.”

Neville continued to roll the ball in his hands, staring at it to try and divine what it was he had forgotten when Draco Malfoy strolled by, snatching the Remembrall from him. Harry was up to his feet immediately, Hermione not long after, blocking Malfoy’s way. Before they had said anything to confront Malfoy, Professor McGonagall had appeared, seemingly fading in from nowhere.

“Something wrong here, Mr. Potter?”

“Malfoy’s got my Remembrall, Professor.” Neville piped up, swinging his legs out and finally standing with them.

“Was just having a look.” Malfoy said, his expression dropping to a scowl before he tossed the Remembrall back to Neville and stalked his way to the Slytherin table to sit between Crabbe and Goyle.

***

Harry paused atop the steps down to the training grounds, breathing in the crisp, autumn air and feeling the breeze on his face. He took his hat off and put it into the pouch on his belt, walking onto the grass as it rippled lazily in the wind. The mishmash group of students made their way down the sloping lawn towards a well kept pitch on the opposite side of the campus from the Forbidden Forest. They found the broomsticks already laid out in neat, parallel lines facing each other, most of them looking worse for wear with their bristles sticking out jaggedly this way and that. Shortly after, their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short grey hair and yellow hawk-like eyes that scanned them but betrayed no emotion.

“Well, what are you all waiting for? Find a broom and stand on the side of your dominant hand! Get to it, hurry up!” She barked orders as soon as she had done a mental head count of all the children to make sure she had a full class.

Harry found a spot opposite Neville with Hermione to his left, but gave their choices a second look when he saw that Draco had been forced to a broom to his diagonal opposite. The silver-haired boy glared at the Hammer, doing his best to seem as haughty as possible, breaking his attention only to boast to another nearby Slytherin that his broom at home was miles better than the school provided ones. The Hammer spat in the grass between them and stood his ground.

“We’re going to summon the brooms to our hands,” Madam Hooch called out instructions, “Simply stick your hand out over your broom and say ‘Up!’”

“Up!” Everyone followed along.

Harry’s broom jumped right up into his hand, and for once he was well ahead of the pack. Hermione’s had simply rolled over like a lazy cat while Neville’s had quivered in place and then settled back into the grass. Madam Hooch blew her whistle, drawing everyone’s attention back to her,

“Those of you who are holding brooms, continue to hold them. The rest who are still struggling, try again!” She commanded and began to walk along the line, helping students with their individual deficiencies until most of the class had successfully summoned their brooms from the ground. She told the rest to reach down and pick up their brooms.

Madam Hooch moved the class on from there, teaching them how to mount the broom without sliding off the end and instructing them to hold their positions so she could walk by and correct their form. “Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three - two -”

Neville was sweating profusely, the colour drained from his face as he stared at the end of the broom in front of him. The Hammer let go of his broom as Neville bent his knees to jump, letting it fall away and stepping forward to hold onto the end of Neville’s broom. Harry could feel Neville shaking while holding it, seeing the nervous boy’s eyes wide and pleading as he tried to comply with Madam Hooch’s directions.

“Nev. Look at me.” Harry commanded the boy, who struggled to look back to him,

“Don’t worry about what everyone else is doing. This is just you and the broom.”

“B-b-but I just don’t want to be last.” Neville stuttered a reply as some of their classmates took off.

“Who cares when you go? You just have to go. If you can do it once and do it well, nobody can say anything.” Harry’s grip remained firm on Neville’s broom as the boy lowered back down into a crouch, preparing to lift off. Harry heard Draco’s voice somewhere to his side, but his attention was focused on Neville.

“You ready? Breathe, Nev, breathe. It’s just you and the broom. We’re not even going anywhere. Just up and down.” The Hammer kept his grip on the broom as Neville inhaled a shivering breath before giving a short hop that never came back down to the earth. Harry was still holding the broom, but it was at neck level now with Neville hovering uneasily in the air, rocking from side to side as he tried to keep his balance.

“You did it, Nev! Just like that! Just stay up on the broom!” The handle was twisting in the Hammer’s grip as Neville struggled to stay upright, pitching back and forth like the arm of a metronome. Eventually, he found himself upright, still shaking, but upright. With Harry’s help, Neville tilted his broom handle groundward and settled back to the earth.

“Good job!” the Hammer clapped him across the back before going back to his own broom and kicking off, achieving flight easily before settling back down. As Harry dismounted his broom, one of the other students cried out in pain as he hit the earth with a dull thud, the sound of cracking bone reaching them as a prelude to his suffering.

Madam Hooch was on the case immediately, rushing over to examine the student who had fallen. His cry was strained as she rolled him over, helping him to sit up. Hooch tutted before saying, “You’ve got broken ribs. I’ll help you get to the infirmary.” She lifted the student up off his feet before turning to the class, “Everyone stay where you are! If even one foot leaves the ground while I’m gone there will be consequences!”

“Wow, Hammer. That could have been me!” Neville said as they watched them leave.

“But it wasn’t. See? All you need to do is be a little more confident in your abilities. I’ve known people who do what you do, all panic without thinking it through.” Harry responded. In the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy reach down and pick up something from where Neville had dismounted his broom.

“Hey look, it’s Longbottom’s Remembrall!” Malfoy announced to the Slytherins in the class. They all laughed.

“Give it back.” The Hammer spoke authoritatively, squaring up to the boy.

“Y-yeah, that’s mine!” Neville stepped up next to Harry.

Draco began to mount a broom, intent on flying away, only to have Harry grasp onto it with his left hand the same way he had stabilised Neville’s.

“What are you going to do about it, Potter?” Draco held onto the broom with one hand, the Remembrall in the other.

“Give it back to him.” The Hammer glared at Malfoy, his voice low and even. A voice in the back of Harry’s head told him he was about to repeat a mistake. He didn’t care.

“Come and take it then.” Malfoy taunted with a sneer, dropping his grip on the broom and grasping a hold of the Hammer’s robes, “let’s see what the high and mighty hero Harry Potter is going to do.”

The crowd around them had grown tense and silent, all the students staring at the two confronting each other at close range. Some of the more eager students were fidgeting with the handles of their wands. The Hammer reached into his pocket.

“You get one last one, Draco. Give Nev his stuff back.” The Hammer closed the hand in his pocket into a fist.

Malfoy looked away and taunted, “Look everyone, the  Great  Harry Potter is a coward! All talk and no-” as he turned his head back to look at Harry, his nose was greeted with a fist formed around a roll of Bronze Knuts. The crack of breaking bone echoed out from the center of the crowd, the stunned silence for the second that followed filled with Malfoy’s scream of pain as he stumbled backwards. “You fight like a Muggle!” the Slytherin boy cried, blood in his voice as it ran like a river from his nose. The feeling of warm blood on the Hammer’s knuckles gave him a feeling of deep satisfaction.

The sounds of chaos consumed the two as all the students who had been watching crowded together to break the two apart as Harry went for another swing, making contact with the right side of Malfoy’s head next to his eye. Before he knew it, the Hammer was being dragged away by a dozen hands and three kinds of robe trims: red, blue, and yellow. The battle lines had been drawn and wands were in play, but the Hammer didn’t care. “You rat fink motherfucker!” He yelled, kicking and screaming words he had learned from his father’s accidental uses. In the struggle, Harry reached for his wand, trying to get back at Malfoy only to feel it wrenched out of his tenuous grip with no obvious cause. In his periphery, a cloud of bushy hair caught the Hammer’s wand and yelled, “Petrificus Totalus!”

Harry felt his legs snap together before his arms locked down to his sides. His fist clenched down around the roll of coins in rigour, pain radiating up his arm. He fell to the ground with a thud, his eyes stuck looking into a cloudy blue sky. The crowd had backed up from him like he was a dangerous animal, finally contained. Hermione and Neville stepped up over him a moment later. Her eyes were shimmering pools, tears welling but not flowing. His wand was still in her hand and pointed at him. The Hammer felt a deep tug in his chest, the icy cold feeling of a dagger being stabbed into his back as he put together what had just happened. Neville seemed to be rushing from side to side, trying to keep the crowd from closing in on them. Someone was helping Malfoy by him, the boy’s face broken in two places while he was sobbing, which only caused him more pain and made him redouble his cries.

Minutes later, teachers showed up.


	13. Chapter 13

The headmaster’s office was in its own tower, up through a secret entrance behind a gargoyle whose current password was ‘Lemon Drops’. Harry didn’t walk a single step to get there. When Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall came running out to the field and found him petrified with Malfoy yelling absurd accusations, the Deputy Headmistress redoubled Hermione’s spell before lifting him from the ground with her wand and levitating him into the castle while Madam Hooch took control of her class again.

He was floated the entire way into the office like a maximum security prisoner before being set down into the chair in front of the headmaster’s desk. Aside from Professor McGonagall, the office was empty. She ended the incantation on him and his hand immediately let go of the roll of bloodied bronze coins, their weight hitting the stone floor with a muted thud. The pain that replaced the one from gripping it shot up like a railroad spike into his forearm. She picked up the coins and looked at him sternly, “You will wait here until the headmaster arrives. Do not leave this chair.” A few of the portraits of old headmasters surrounding them jeered at Harry, calling out his insolence. The Hammer was quick to notice that the trim on the peanut gallery frames was predominantly green.

Behind him, the sound of stone grinding upon stone came to him, a sign that the statue had wound back into place, sealing him in the room. Dumbledore’s decorations played along with the idea that he was either an eccentric old coot or touched in the head. The large, circular room was filled with all kinds of gidgets and gadgets, both sensical and nonsensical, all of them emitting some kind of low volume noise at intervals that remained just as much a mystery as their uses. Behind the enormous claw-footed desk that the Hammer was facing, he saw the Sorting Hat sitting on a bookshelf.

“That didn’t take long at all.” The Hat piped up when Harry finally noticed it on its shelf.

“You should see the other guy.”

“Hrm. Hrm. Normally a Gryffindor would be the type to encourage or be encouraged into physical violence.”

“Are you saying you made a mistake?” Harry asked, climbing up onto his knees on the chair to spin around and get a good look at the rear of the room. Technically he never left his seat.

“Never! You are brash and brave, to be sure, but your loyalty to anyone else but your own cause immediately disqualifies you from their ranks.”

“You make me sound like a snake in the grass.”

“And yet you don’t fit so cleanly into Slytherin. Your desire to solve these mysteries isn’t for you. What you do, you do not for power. I have not made a mistake.”

The Hammer sat back down in the chair, looking back at the hat. It had nothing more to say, leaving Harry to think about what had been said. It turned out there was plenty of time to think - no one showed up for quite some time. He had broken a boy’s face in two places, which was something of more consequence than the schoolyard fight that had been the reason he was taken out of school previously. The look on Hermione and Neville’s faces stuck with him along with that icy feeling. The Hammer looked down at the knuckles on his right hand, the ruddy brown of dried blood caked on them.

Some time later, the sound of the gargoyle statue grinding away to reveal the staircase brought trouble and the law with it. Harry stood and cornered around his chair to see who it was only to feel a force turn him back around and seat him in the chair,

“Sit. Back. Down.” Professor Snape’s voice was as cold and demeaning as ever.

“Now now, Severus. We’re here to discuss Mr. Potter’s behaviour, not escort him to Azkaban.” The Headmaster’s voice followed as he came around and sat down in his chair on the other side of the desk. Aside from Snape, Harry saw McGonagall and Flitwick come into the room, taking their places on the other side of the desk to Dumbledore’s side. Flitwick had to drag a chair in and stand atop it to be seen.

“I regret that this is our first meeting, Harry.” Dumbledore continued, commanding the room, “But I must find out what has happened today.”

“I’m sure you’ve already had everyone tell you, Chief.” Harry replied, looking between them.

“Yes, but I find that it helps to hear from the accused. After all, in divining the truth all portions of testimony must be heard.”

“I broke Malfoy’s nose with a roll of Knuts in my hand.” Harry said, not breaking eye contact with Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall set the battered roll of coins onto his desk. Dumbledore picked them up, examining it delicately between his fingers.

“So you did. From what I hear as well, you broke the bone just next to his eye. Madam Pomfrey has said it wasn’t difficult to fix, just painful.”

“Good, then maybe he learned his lesson.”

“He admits his guilt and has no concept of remorse. Why don’t we send him back to where we found him?” Professor Snape spoke up.

“Yeah, send me back. This crazy circus is getting on my nerves. At least things made sense back where I came from and people were upfront with the truth.”

Dumbledore held up his hand for silence, “We won’t be expelling you, Mr. Potter”

Snape made a few strangled noises.

“But if you would enlighten us as to why it was you thought it necessary to resort to violence.” Dumbledore asked.

“Malfoy took Neville’s Remembrall. He refused to give it back. The both of us told him to give it back and I warned him before I hit him.”

“Were you trying to be a hero, Harry?”

“No, Chief. There’s no heroes here.” Harry clenched his jaw.

“Then why did you deem it necessary to go as far as you did?” Professor McGonagall asked in the silence.

“I did it because Malfoy’s a prissy rich boy with too much money and not enough sense. All he wants is to bully people so he can make up for his shortcomings. He deserved every bit of what I gave to him.” Harry glanced over at Snape, narrowing his eyes. The Potions’ master’s expression was impassive.

“Though,” Dumbledore cut back in, reaching for one of the candies in one of the bowls on his desk, “I wonder how far you would have taken it if Ms. Granger had not been there to petrify you.”

“You disapprove of what I do? Fine. But doing it from your ivory tower here while kids are getting hit in the halls with  _ MAGIC _ ? What kind of two-bit circus are you running here, Chief?”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Mr. Potter. You were warned that violence of that nature would not be condoned during your time at Hogwarts.” Professor McGonagall reminded him.

“Yeah, especially if they deserve it, seems like.”

“No one deserves to be assaulted for their indiscretions, Mr. Potter. There are rules here.” Harry didn’t bother replying.

“Filius,” Dumbledore spoke again, shaking the little man’s balance on his chair, “I know it is a little bit outside the scope of my office to directly punish students, but I believe in an incident with such severity I am obligated to contribute my opinion.”

“I-yes, of course, Headmaster. Please do.” Flitwick responded.

“As I said before, you will not be expelled for this infraction, given that it is your first and your record thus far academically has been of some note. From what Filius has told me, you were one of the few students to move on to the advanced versions of the spells that have been taught thus far.”

The Hammer kept his mouth shut, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand with the thumb of his left, feeling Malfoy’s blood flake off of them.

“That being said, you’ll be attending a month’s detentions. Which teacher you’ll be serving it with will be determined and you’ll be informed as soon as possible.” Dumbledore offered Harry one of the candies from his desk, Harry declined, “in addition to that, I’m afraid I must take fifty points from Ravenclaw. Does that seem appropriate?”

The question was directed at the other teachers. All nodded or murmured something in agreement before Dumbledore spoke again dismissing them. The other professors left. Harry stayed in his seat.

“Were you going to argue for house points, Harry?” He asked him. The Hammer shrugged, “No skin off my back, you lose 50 professor points. See how badly that makes you feel?” Dumbledore’s eyes opened a little wider. “No, I wanted to ask about the thing on the third floor. You, Hagrid, Nicholas Flamel, the break-ins at all the Gringotts, Voldemort,  _ me _ \- all of these things are connected, aren’t they? Voldemort is still alive, isn’t he?”

The old man looked at Harry with a twinkle in his eye. “You are correct in assuming the Dark Lord was not permanently defeated that day. Please believe me, that item is being taken care of quite well in the safest part of the castle. We are doing our best to protect it.”

“Except this time all your bests might not be enough, Chief. This is some powerful magical object that you’ve divulged the location to a hall full of hundreds of students just vaguely enough to let them put together the clues. I gotta ask again, what kind of two bit circus are you running here? Unless...”

Dumbledore was content in maintaining his gaze into Harry’s eyes.

“That’s on purpose!” Harry started drawing more lines on his mental thought board, “You advertised where the Maltese Falcon was so you could draw out the schmucks that were gonna go after it. Except that could only mean the school staff or students since no one else is allowed on the grounds day to day.”

“Maltese-?” Dumbledore started to reply.

“Which means you need me! As bait! That’s why you can’t expel me, there’s some grand scheme at work here because you all think I’m some kind of hero that slew Voldemort the first go round!” Harry was incredulous.

“Mr. Potter, none of the staff would ever go so far as to use you as live bait. That is the line with which I take offense to.” The old man cut in, the lines on his ancient face seemingly much deeper than they had been when it seemed that Harry was only guilty of childish mischief.  
“Tell it to Sweeney, Chief. I know you won’t tell me what’s in that package that Hagrid moved from Gringotts, but I swear I’m going to find out. If you’re going to risk my life without telling me why, then the Hammer is going to find out for himself.” Harry got up from the chair and stormed over to the open stairwell.

Out in the hall, Hermione and Neville were waiting for him, both of them bolting up from the bench they had been sitting on and running toward him as he stepped out from behind the gargoyle.

“Hammer! We thought they took you to Azkaban!” Neville said as they came up to him. Harry pulled his hat out of his belt pouch and put it on, looking from Neville to Hermione and back again, ignoring the girl with a look of contempt like she was Mrs. Grundy.

“Not yet. There’s something bigger than broken noses and house pride going on here. We need to find out who that Flamel character is before something actually bad happens.” The Hammer said, directed at almost no one as he walked away from the two. They looked between each other as he left, sharing a worried look.

Elsewhere in the school, Ravenclaw Sapphires flowed upwards in their hourglass.

***

Class the next day was a strange experience. The news of his fight with Malfoy had spread quickly to the rest of the school. Walking into breakfast he was greeted by cheers from the Gryffindor table and even a few of his fellow Ravenclaws before the teachers got everyone to quiet down under the threat of sharing the Hammer’s month long detention. Malfoy himself looked like he had before the fight, but from his behaviour, he wasn’t looking for another one. The Hammer observed the Slytherin boy rubbing the temple next to his eye and his nose and occasionally looking over toward him. Harry didn’t regret doing it - for the moment the stuck up prick had learned a lesson about bullying people.

Harry sat down in the same spot on the bench with Neville at his back, but when Hermione showed up and sat down next to him, he stopped talking. Instead, Harry sipped on his morning tea and waited for the mail. Hermione looked back at Neville pleadingly, but the boy didn’t know what to do or say. The owls brought in his daily subscriptions, but also a note in the official letterhead of Hogwarts from the Headmaster’s office. It was a curt single line with a signature,

“Please report to Professor Longbaugh in the Muggle Studies class after school.

-APWB Dumbledore”

The Hammer folded the note and put it in his pocket.

“Neville!” The Hammer spoke up very suddenly, causing the people around him to jolt, “I’m gonna be stuck after class for the next month so I need you to do some research for me.”

“Uh, ok Hammer, but wouldn’t-”

“Nope! I need you to look up Nicholas Flamel and anything he’s related to on the magic artefact front. See if any of it can be connected to Voldemort.”

A handful of people around the Hammer gagged on their breakfast, the colour drained from Neville’s face before he gave a muted affirmative.

“Harry I could-” Hermione started, but Harry got up and walked away, leaving half a mug of tea unfinished.

The Hammer’s well worn habits that day were emptier, the space between himself and others opened up wider now than they had ever been. Everyone gave him a wide berth as he walked the halls, whispering at the fringes of his attention. He caught snippets of rumours, praise, and fear. For the first few periods, Hermione tried to join him in the corners of the room he alienated himself to, but he ignored her. There was something festering there that Harry was still turning over in his heart. Eventually, she stopped trying, sitting forlornly with Neville and talking about the task the Hammer had given him that morning. When class was done, the Hammer trudged his way back to the Muggle Studies classroom, knocking on the door before entering.

“Hammer.” Professor Longbaugh was standing next to one of the displays and tipped his hat to him when he entered.

“Professor.” Harry returned the gesture, “So what am I going to be doing in detention with you?”

The Professor closed the display of a fax machine and walked back over to his desk, opening up the main drawer. “Well first off, I think these are yours.” He said, pulling out the roll of bloodied bronze coins and disintegrating the paper wrap. The teacher held the coins clasped in one hand, having Harry cup both of his to receive them.

“So they are. I suppose they’ll be searching me a little more often in case I want to pull the same stunt.” 

“Doubt it.” Longbaugh returned, taking his hat off and hanging it on a rack on the wall, “Everybody’s got a wand. Not like you can do more damage with that than with one of those.”

The Professor reached for his own wand on a leather sheath on his belt, tapping it against a Swingline stapler sitting on his desk and transforming it into a set of brass knuckles. He lifted it up from the desk and tossed it between his hands before tossing it to Harry.

As soon as it had reached the Hammer, the knuckles turned back into a stapler.

“We’re stapling papers and filing today. I’ve got a backlog on student essays and classroom handouts.” It was probably the most normal thing Harry could think of.

The professor pulled up a desk and set down three stacks of paper on it, "These are the handouts, one from each and staple in the top left corner." He then walked over to his desk and started to read the topmost paper from a sizable stack.

"Did you print these on that machine?" Harry asked.

"Technically I printed just the one of each and used a multiplication spell, but yeah."

"Does that mean you're a muggleborn?"

"Course it does. Born and raised before an owl came crashing into my father's office window."

The Hammer nodded and resumed his work. It was the most mundane thing he had done since arriving at Hogwarts. Something about it brought a tear to his eye. After a few papers and scribbling, the professor looked up from his work and said,

"Sorry you have to spend your time here with me. You're probably bored of muggle stuff by now. When they asked for a general call on teachers I volunteered for this and had to fight Snape for you."

Harry wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robes, "You fought to get me?"

"Yeah, Snape wanted to torture you by the look in his eye. But he gave up in the end when Dumbledore asked what it was he needed help on so early in the term. I figure you'd take boring over suffering."

"You know, professor, I think I was just starting to feel homesick."

They went back to their respective work. The three piles shrank and the stapled pile grew, the scribbling of the professor's red pen going all the while.

"Professor, I don't really know what to do." Harry spoke out of the blue. Longbaugh looked up from his desk.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a lot of people who want a hero here. You’ve noticed that. There’s people who want me to be that hero and there’s people who want me to be some super-Ravenclaw. But, I don’t think I’m any of those things. I still have to work extra hard in DADA since the garlic in Professor Quirrell’s classroom just gives me an awful headache.” Harry rubbed two pieces of paper against each other, their rasping filling the silence in the room. The student handouts were about automobiles and hydraulics.

“But then you punched a kid in the face and broke his nose while also having above average marks, which really kind of sends a mixed message.”

“Does that make me an inherently bad person?”

“I think it makes you human, Harry.” The Hammer looked up at his teacher, “But what you really need to control isn’t your internal desires, it’s your execution.”

Harry set down the papers.

“You obviously wanted to do the right thing, at least on first pass. That Malfoy kid stole your friend’s stuff so you tried to get it back. But surprise, he wouldn’t listen to anything but force because that’s just how bullies are.”

“So I provided it. I don’t see how that’s so bad. Rules don’t always work and they aren’t there for people who refuse to recognize them.”

“Generally that’s frowned upon in polite society since there’s rules about fair play and authority, but I still don’t know what it is with you Brits and the inability to actually look a problem in the eye. There’s a lot of little social norms about shame and understatement that I find hard to deal with sometimes. Between you and me, sometimes the messy solution might be the best solution. I don’t think Malfoy is likely to act up again against other students for a while.”

“So do you think I’m living up to their expectations?”  
“Dumbledore and I agree on the fact that you’re still young. The world’s a big place, Harry. You’re trying to accept more responsibility than you need to right now and it’s not letting you live a proper childhood. Your idols are hard boiled, but usually that’s a result of an adult life full of bad decisions - don’t let it ruin what you’ve got going on now. I’ve seen how you’re treating your friends after they tried to stop you.”

Harry stapled another set of sheets before mumbling, “The Hat warned me about this. But I know I have to solve those mysteries. No one else will.”

The professor sighed, setting down the paper he had been reading and looking up at the ceiling. “I certainly can’t stop you. You’re obsessed, and by my reckoning if anyone else around here tried to stop you we’d only see this place in flames. If we’re stuck together for a month, I wouldn’t be against helping you practice some of the more… impolite things they don’t normally teach here.”

Harry looked back towards him.

“That is, if you help me finish my work so we have time before you need to go to bed.”


	14. Chapter 14

Something stuck with the Hammer from his talk with the American Professor - how no one wanted to look the problem in the eye. To him it held true with Voldemort and how many pure blooded wizards were afraid to use a ridiculous sounding name. The sentiment sent some new ideas rolling in his mind - because the adults all had the same approach he would have to be the one to make a move before the culprit behind the scene made theirs.

Juggling between his responsibility with schoolwork and the after school detentions with Professor Longbaugh took up all of Harry’s free time - to the point where he had to catch one of the Weasley twins during lunch and arrange a meeting in one of the secret passages a week later. The plan was slowed to a crawl but it was still going. It wasn’t until almost a week from the incident that Harry had something to say to Hermione.

“What you did hurt, you know.” he spoke up finally during breakfast, adding a measure of wideye potion to his tea. They had gotten used to the fight they were having, sitting in silence next to each other with Neville nearby.

She looked up from her food, “You put yourself in danger, Harry. I wasn’t going to watch you dig that grave any deeper.”

“If everyone had left me well enough alone the only one in danger was Malfoy, the spineless daisy.”

“What you did was wrong, Harry.”

“No, what I did was against the rules, Hermione.”

She slid her food away from her, turning to focus on her own drink, “I won’t apologise for what I did.”

“Neither will I.” the Hammer put a toothpick in his mouth and chewed.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“You find anything on Flamel?”

“Not yet. I haven’t had the time because of the Transfigurations assignments.”

The Hammer sipped his tea. Professor Longbaugh had been helping him with the assignments when they finished the detention duties. He hadn’t been entirely forthcoming with teaching more dangerous DADA oriented spells, but the extra practise on material in the curriculum had helped Harry advance his basic proficiencies quick enough to keep squarely ahead of what was required of him in class.

From all outward appearances, life returned to normal between them and the tension everyone else had been feeling between the two Ravenclaws eased. Harry still talked to her about the case when he could, but having all of his free nights taken up by detention hours for the full month that stretched all the way into October had stymied the subtle approach and careful research that she insisted they follow. Instead, Harry had his own plans.

Slipping away early during lunch a week later, the Hammer headed for the hall between the armoury and trophy rooms, tapping the side of the cabinet to open it up and slip inside. With his mastery of the wand lighting spell, he lit the way inside until he found the light of the Weasley twins’ wands, the two of them leaning on the walls of the passage, twirling their wands idly.

“Hammer, how’s it going?” George greeted him with an arc of his wandlight.

“How’s the missus? Figure she wouldn’t want you associating with characters of our ill repute.” Fred asked him amicably.

“Good thing it’s just us here then, boys. I’m not one to waste your time, especially since lunch is getting cold in the Hall.”

“You do bring up a good point.” Fred rubbed his stomach, “though let me be the first to say, between you and me, I’m a fan of your work.”

The Hammer smirked, “I feel like you might be few and far between.”

“Nonsense, Hammer. You’ve developed quite a fanclub amongst some of the other rapscallions around the school, though you really drew the line in the sand. I’m sure you’ve got just as many new enemies. So what is it you wanted from our little enterprise?”

“I’m not gonna ask how, but I wanted to get my hands on a flask of Byzantine oil, the al Greco stuff. Something low key that I don’t need a wand for, you know?”

The twins looked between themselves, then each looking down at their free hand and counting something with their fingers before looking back to Harry,

“Soonest we can have that to you is mid October, and it’s going to be costly. We don’t usually deal with volatile ingredients.”

“Do you still have some of that bad batch of Felix Felices in storage?” Harry asked.

“Why I never,” Fred feigned offense, “We would never deal in such shabby unverified products. Though rumour has it, whatever was left of that batch was lost in a fire shortly after the ring was busted.”

“Shame.” The Hammer said, “So what’s the damage for the oil?”

“Twenty Galleons, half now half later.” George said, doing some quick calculations on his hand and looking to Fred.

“Sounds about right. Special price for your first purchase.”

Harry whistled at the steepness of the price, putting his hand over the pouch and pulling out the first ten Galleons.

“Here you go, gents. Hopefully all this is worth both of our whiles.”

The twins split the cash between them, five apiece, pocketing it before Fred pulled out a piece of parchment and tapped it with the lit tip of his wand while saying, “Nary Narrowed Nonsense”. The Small piece of scrap parchment revealed a short set of numbers written under the handwritten headline of “WWW”.

“Your claim cheque,” He explained, “From Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.”

Harry took the parchment and the lettering faded immediately. He placed it into his pouch and shook their hands. They parted ways, going in separate directions at separate times to stagger their eventual sightings.

It wasn’t until the weekend that the Hammer had time to make his move. That Saturday, Harry woke up late - missing breakfast by a wide margin. He and sleep hadn’t been getting along quite as well as they used to. Stumbling his way out of bed and getting ready, Harry opened up his trunk and stuck his head in, reaching for a tool set that he had been keeping in reserve. Once it was in his pocket, he went down to the common room.

“Finally awake?” Hermione was planted in one of the love seats, one of the many books from the room on her lap and a small stack lying next to her filled with bookmarks aligned upwards in a rainbow of multicoloured tabs. Harry grunted a greeting at her and started making his way for the exit door.

“Where are you going?” She asked, closing the book and focusing on him. He was doing something in his pocket with his left hand that she had learned to read as the fact that he was hiding something. Harry put on his hat and looked away, opening up the eagle door and trying to close it behind him as he stepped out.

She smelled his trouble and got up in a flash, following him out the door, berating him.

“Harry! Where are you going? You’re going to get in trouble again and they really will expel you this time! You can’t keep pressing your luck with the professors! You’re-” she kept going, hot on his heels as he made his way back up to the cabinet in the armory hall, pausing only to look at him quizzically as he stopped in front of the awards case. The Hammer looked back at her,

“If you’re coming along, do you mind keeping it down so that Filch doesn’t come looking for us?” Hermione took a deep breath like she was about to redouble her lecture when Harry popped the secret latch and pulled the case aside, revealing the hidden passage behind it. She let her breath out in a long hiss like a balloon losing air, following Harry into the passage as the cabinet slid shut behind them. It wasn’t long into following the secret tunnel that Hermione steeled herself in the oppressive atmosphere and began to lecture him again on how illogical his actions were, regardless of whatever it was he was doing. The Hammer paid her no mind and walked the vaguely familiar path to the other side behind the tapestry that adorned the wall just outside  _ that _ door.

The Hammer held up a hand for her to stop, pausing them both in the secret passage behind the material of the tapestry. He pushed the cloth out just far enough to look down the hallway one way and then the other, closing his eyes to focus on his hearing before ducking back into the passage.

“Last chance, doll. If you go out there with me, we cross the line. What’s it going to be: the truth or the rules?”

He didn’t give her a chance to verbalise an answer, instead slipping out from behind the tapestry and slinking to the door. He found it locked, as he had expected, but the lock in the door seemed to be in half decent condition. Harry grabbed the leatherette tool roll from his pocket and opened it up. He plucked out the tension wrench and his first choice of pick before placing both into the door and feeling for the pins. A grunt of dissatisfaction escaped him when he realised it wasn’t going to be that easy, instead placing the pick and wrench back into the roll and pulling out a ring full of warded keys.

“Harry! What are you doing!? Why do you even have those?” Hermione had made her choice, but now she was being obnoxious about it.

“Will ya let a man work, ya bearcat?” Harry was eagerly trying out the keys in the lock, muttering, “Work the lock not the dame.” to himself as he jiggled one to test it before moving onto the next. A few keys later with Hermione breathing down his neck, something in the door clicked and gave way. Harry packed his tools back into the roll and turned round to give the hallway one last look before going into the room. Hermione raised her voice again before he had even gotten the door closed behind them,

“If they find us in here it’ll be all kinds of-” She stopped. He turned around to face her, but stopped mid spin when he realised the grumbling he had felt hadn’t been in his stomach. Above a trap door near the back of the room was an enormous three-headed dog, six blood-shot eyes glaring at the two children evoking the idea that they had woken it from a particularly enjoyable nap in the single sunbeam that arced across the room. The chain attached to the branching fingers of its collar looked like there was still some slack in it.

“We should go.” Harry said, his voice barely escaping his lips as his back hugged the wall. Hermione scooted over to the bit of the wall next to him, “That. Yes.” She squeaked.

The dog’s growl deepened into its throat, like the purr of a revving engine. With numb fingers, Harry fumbled at the pull handle on the door, afraid to give even an inch of distance toward the dog, seeing three sets of hackles standing up as three sets of teeth started being bared, frothy slobber descending viscously to the floor beneath its mouths. The creaking of the door sent a chill down the Hammer’s spine, the light from the outside beckoning them. He took hold of Hermione’s hand and dragged her through the opening as the dog began to lunge.

“Run!” He yelled while the hound snapped at them through the doorway, unable to quite reach them in the hall. It was a wonder they had even gotten it into the room in the first place. The Hammer held tight to her hand and dragged her, sprinting them both to the entrance to another secret passage that he had noted before beginning this venture. He stopped in front of a suit of armor and yelled the nonsense sounding words the Weasleys had given him in his notebook.

“Fine, fine. You two look like you’re in a hurry.” The armor commented dryly as it stepped aside to reveal an opening behind it. He urged Hermione through and went in after her only to find them both falling, sliding down a tilted ramp that led to their destination.

“Oh, right, watch your step!” The armor called from behind them.

They slid for long enough that the Hammer’s eyes adjusted to the dark, seeing that Hermione was on her stomach and not enjoying a single moment of this. He grabbed at her, trying to help her twist over onto her back but before they knew it they had tumbled out the other side and onto a carpeted floor. Scrabbling around, the Hammer found his hat and looked around to see that they had landed in a back corner of the library. Between the shelves he saw a familiar set of dark clad shoes under long black robes pacing through the aisle. The Hammer practically jumped on Hermione when he noticed her stir, holding a hand over her mouth and hissing, “Ssssh!” in her ear.

Once she had calmed down, he took his hand off of her mouth and pointed to what he had seen through the bookshelves, tracking the path that he had seen the familiar boots take, stopping short of a set of shoes and violet robes that were unmistakably Professor Quirrell’s.

“S-s-severus, what can I do for y-” There was the sound of a scuffle, the muted thud of a body pushed up against a stone wall, the squeak of Quirrell’s exhale.

“You’re in a precarious position, Quirrell. You do not want to make an enemy of me.” Snape’s voice was a low growl above the muted ambiance of the library. The two children on the ground stayed stock still and strained their hearing to take in the confrontation happening a few aisles over.

“Wh-why I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Severus.” Professor Quirrell’s voice sounded like he wanted to play innocent. The Hammer figured it was about as fake as his stutter.

“I am sure you do,” Snape insisted, “and very soon it will be made obvious. Have you found a method of passing Hagrid’s beast?” There was a sudden pause in his words. Harry put a hand up to his own mouth to quiet the noise of his breath.

“Ahem.” A woman cleared her throat from the distance between the aisles, “Gentlemen, I’m aware that you are both teaching staff but the rules of the library still apply to the both of you.” Madam Pince had found them on her rounds. Harry practically flopped to the floor in disappointment. They had been so close to something. Maybe not an all out confession of guilt, but there would have been something to follow up on.

Snape growled something incoherent and strode away, leaving Professor Quirrell to straighten his robes before muttering his pardon and meandering his way out of the aisle under Madam Pince’s continued gaze. The Hammer pounded his fist on the ground in frustration before noticing that Hermione had already begun to stand.

“What is it you two are doing?” Madam Pince had prowled her way over to their aisle, catching them in their hiding spot with the Hammer on the ground and Hermione crouched over him. Before Harry had a chance to say something glib, Hermione spoke up for them,

“Oh, Madam Pince, Harry was reaching up for one of the books on the upper shelves and I guess we weren’t looking at what we were doing and he slipped and fell.”

The librarian looked between them, “Well, I do hope you’ll be more careful next time. Do take care not to damage the books.” She turned and left them. It paid to be a well meaning regular in the library. Hermione extended her hand. Harry took it and stood. They left the library together, walking back to Ravenclaw tower in silence, new theories swimming to the surface with the small glimpse of what they had seen behind the veil of the teaching staff’s normal airs.

Back in the common room, Hermione went back to the chair that she had been occupying when the Hammer had walked by her in the morning, picking the book back up from where she had left off.

“I’ll come back in a while,” Harry said, “I need to go think about all this. Thanks for the save in the library.”

“Uhm, Harry?” She called after him.

“Hm?”

“Thank you. About the dog.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Harry went back up to his room and pulled the cloth from the thought board and took another look at it, writing the words “KARLOFF” and “B. DENBROUGH”, one for Snape and one for Quirrell, placing them near the Gringotts break in clippings. The narrative surrounding the central mystery only seemed to bring the two of them up when it came to means, motive, and opportunity. At some point previous, the Maltese Falcon had been put in the care of Gringotts as a means of safeguarding it, that was for sure. How exactly the thing connected backwards to dealing with Voldemort, the Hammer couldn’t be sure.

What the Hammer could be sure of was that the criminal element wanted it, so the Chief had his big Softie transfer the item to Scholomance. What the Hammer was left with in the school was the students or staff, but narrowing it down by opportunity really pointed the finger at the staff. Karloff certainly had the motive: there was a grudge there that would explain why he would want a magical object to spite Harry, and the means and opportunity were self-evident. The people in charge of protecting the package seemed to trust him. Stuttering Bill Denbrough was missing the motive, if that was to be believed, but his means and opportunity would be the same as Snape’s if not a little broader since people were willing to trust him for not appearing to be the kind of man that might seriously consider eating a student.

The Hammer rubbed his eyes. He was missing something. The dog from earlier today bugged him. The three headed dog. Hagrid’s dog. The fact that it was the size of a semi-truck trailer and had three heads didn’t bother him - on the contrary it was almost to be expected - but the fact that it was chained in there to guard a trap door to a different part of the castle to hide the Maltese Falcon implied that it was just one in a series of traps. There was always more than just a guard dog. Harry wished he could talk about the case with his father, but with the stakes he was playing for his parents were likely to overreact and try and withdraw him from school for safety reasons.

He didn’t know what any of this would add up to, but for the moment everything seemed to hang on what the actual package was. Whatever magical power the Maltese Falcon had might be the only thing that gave away the game. Before he realized he had been doing it, the Hammer forced himself to stop pacing his part of the room. Harry couldn’t put it together with what he had in hand so he threw the cloth back over his chart and headed back downstairs to the common room. Maybe Hermione would have some ideas.


	15. Chapter 15

She didn’t. She had been in the middle of more research on trying to find Nicholas Flamel, starting from the modern era and going back. Everything thus far had been more or less a dead end and the list of magical objects that were about the size of the one they were concerned with kept on going. It might’ve been anything from the holy grail, to the seal to the crypt of Atlantis, a Philosopher’s stone, rings of power and wisdom, or one that amused Harry to no end: a matryoshka doll that was connected to a series of different dimensions depending on how you opened the figures.

With no new leads, they arranged to meet and discuss the case with Neville, who also needed help with his homework. It proved to be the perfect time to catch him up on everything. Neville’s input crossed a few of the prospective items from the list - the rings and the seal were either lost to time or actually in someone’s private collection. Between the three of them they didn’t have anything but pure speculation for what the traps laying beyond the guard dog might have been. For all Harry knew, the door it was sitting on top of might be magically trapped some other way. Without any additional good ideas, they were stuck, so they moved on to helping Neville with his school work. At least that turned out to be a productive venture.

***

A few weeks later, George slipped a flask into the crook of Harry’s arm during breakfast and Harry pushed a book to the floor with the remaining payment in it, sealed up in an envelope. George returned the book to the table for him, but slipped the envelope into his pocket before giving him a wink and telling him to enjoy breakfast. By that point, Harry had served his last day of detention and was a free man just in time to be told that classes would be cancelled that upcoming Friday for the first quidditch match of the year. Attendance was voluntary, but highly encouraged. The Hammer didn’t have any interest in it and planned to spend it in the library. He had work to do.

Sadly, everyone else wouldn’t shut up about it. Neville was a lifelong fan and had done his best to try and convince the Hammer to join him in cheering for Gryffindor in the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match. Even Hermione had told him to open his mind a little and that she planned on going to the match. Harry told her he was going to keep his nose to the grindstone on figuring out who Nicholas Flamel was - though neither of them wanted to resort to asking their ghostly history of magic teacher, Professor Binns. For how old he was, he surely might’ve met someone who knew him before he died, but it would be a waste of an entire day trying to extract the information from him.

After breakfast the Hammer bid adieu to his friends and headed for the library, tipping his hat to Madam Pince on the way in only for her to tell him to be careful. The library was emptier than usual, letting him find the prime study desk that he wanted. He set his hat down on the spot to claim it before wandering through the various shelves and plucking himself a collection of books that would get the day’s research started. He set the stack down next to his hat, taking a seat heavily into the chair. Harry ran a finger up and down the stack of book spines while reciting a rhyme to help him choose. Fingers stopping on one of the books, the Hammer cut his stack and picked up the one it had landed on. It was a tome on the genealogy of wizarding families that dated back to well before the middle ages. Apparently wizardom had been better about preserving the records of their advancements in the face of whatever was happening during the time.

The contents of the tome were as dry as the cracked leather binding - page after page of wizard family trees laid out like it was trying to trace the blood of kings. The Hammer hadn’t made it very far in the book even skimming when a familiar bushy haired form slumped down into the seat next to him. By his watch they were probably only about 30 minutes into the game. She had an expression that told him to shut up. He tried to keep his eyes on the page, but found himself glancing up to look at her frustrated face.

“Quidditch not what you wanted, doll?’

She tapped him in the side of the leg with the tip of her shoe.

“But yes. It’s just so…  _ boring _ .”

“Figured.”

“It was like watching a football match, but there wasn’t any tension since no one was scoring fast enough or high enough to beat the seeker points, so I just watched the seekers. But then all they did was sit still in the air or do slow laps looking for the snitch.”

Harry nodded, putting the book down.

“Told you, sweetheart. Game sounded like a canceled stamp before it began.”

“I guess I just wanted to like it more.” Hermione responded, “All the other wizards seem to love the game.”

“Just because everyone else likes it doesn’t mean it’s good.”

“It’s just that I wanted to like it  _ because _ I’m a witch, you know? Being a muggleborn always makes me feel like I’m not supposed to be here, a bit of being a stranger in a strange land, or living as an ex-pat.”

“I’m sure not every wizard cares about quidditch, the same way not everyone gives a hoot about football. You’re a better witch than the majority of the two-bit spellcasters at school anyway.”

She sat back in her chair smugly, accepting the Hammer’s compliments, “So what are you working on?”

“This one’s covering wizard genealogy to try and find Flamel, but I haven’t found anything yet. I was planning on catching up on some of the DADA stuff today too, though.”

“I thought you were ahead of everyone in DADA.”

“I’ve been working my butt off after class, really. Half my study time is catching up on that class and the other is working on the case.”

Hermione tilted her head to one side, “Really? But you do so well in that class.”

“I can’t absorb half the stuff that goes on in that room. I think it’s the garlic smell - just gives me this headache I can’t stand. You ever notice how Quirrell seems to avoid me too?”

“I doubt that’s the case. Besides, with his demeanour he’s likely to be afraid of you for whatever hidden powers you might have that he thinks you defeated Voldemort with.”

“Dunno, I still think that stutter’s fake. How he fakes everything else, I’ll have to get back to you.”

She picked up the book he had been reading, thumbing through a few more pages before setting it down. Harry had started on the next book in the stack, something covering the last Wizarding War.

“Have you seen anything new about my parents’ murder?” He asked, eyes still skimming through the book.

“I’ve still only really got a major summary of events leading up to it: the war was on, the group of people standing in open resistance went underground, someone betrayed their location to Voldemort and he came to your house and…”

“I know the rest. I wonder if we can look up some archival newspapers from around that era to find out about it.”

He got up from his chair and wandered the library, eventually finding a floor to ceiling shelf dedicated to having little tubes filled with rolled newspapers all stacked up with a ladder on wheels nearby. The Hammer sighed and dragged the ladder toward the correct shelf.

Hermione looked up to see an armful of newspaper tubes below the top of Harry’s hat bobbing their way towards her.

“Would it kill ‘em to have a microfiche here? This has to be the biggest pain in the rear.” the Hammer commented as he set his arm on top of the table and let the tubes roll out from between them. Hermione helped catch them and began to arrange them back into chronological order.

“1970, 71, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 80, 81…” Hermione read the years out loud to herself as she looked across the ends of the labels.

“I figure we can go year by year - it won’t take too long to at least check the front pages, some editorials, and the obituaries at the time to see what everyone was talking about. If we’re lucky maybe there’ll be coverage on the right people in the obits too.”

It didn’t take long for them to find something of note: taking the collection of newsprints out of the tube from 1970 netted them a headline that announced the open rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry opened the offending paper up and flipped through its pages, finding that the new Daily Prophet hadn’t shifted very far from the old one. Even with the threat of a Dark Wizard army, the editors seemed to be determined to stir the pot and rake as much muck as they could for the sake of increasing readership. Hermione gasped, her hands shaking and tears welling in her eyes as she read through one of the papers the Hammer had set aside.

“What is it?” He asked her.

“Harry… the history books, they covered it, but I never…” Hermione took a moment to compose herself, “They were killing muggleborns. The - the obituaries are on these pages, just a list of names because there were too many to fit eulogies in.”

He took the pages from her, saying nothing as he read line after line of names. It was a sobering experience. The next paper in the year wasn’t any shorter.

The Hammer sucked on his teeth, “The Chief. Dumbledore,” Hermione looked at him, “he said that I was right in assuming that Voldy wasn’t dead.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

“Exactly what I said. I think we’re real deep in it, toots. With the stakes we’re playing at, I don’t think I killed him that night ten years ago, but I don’t know what he is now.”

She looked at him in disbelief, “I don’t understand. You defeated him, but if he’s not dead but he’s gone, what is he?”

“That sounds like a question the door eagle would ask. I got the same answers as you do and it adds up to bupkis.”

They went back to work, moving through the decade and writing down their own notes on names and events. When they were done, the two leaned back into their chairs, Harry staring up at the ceiling three levels above while Hermione closed her eyes and wiped at their corners. It had been an emotional study: for Harry learning about the people involved with his parents and seeing the ripples of their passage, while Hermione came to terms with the kind of evil there was in the world that judged people by the blood in their veins rather than the actions they took.

“James and Lily, my parents, they graduated from school and told Voldemort to stuff it.” Harry summarized.

“They were very brave.” Hermione agreed.

“Now they’re very dead.” Harry spoke darkly, “because they were betrayed by someone they trusted. The police picked up Sirius Black for the charge and now he’s rotting in Azkaban.”

“Why do you sound like you doubt that’s the truth?”

“Well first off they printed it in the Daily Prophet. Second I don’t know if I believe that story about how he murdered that Pettigrew guy.”

“Why wouldn’t you? He destroyed him down to just a finger. It’s vile. Savage.”

“But it’s too messy. Even with my parents, they were hit with a curse that just snuffed the life out of them. Magical murder seems to be a lot more… sanitary than just regular muggle murder.”

“I don’t see why not. They said Black is mad, a psychotic murderer. Do you expect him to be so concerned with cleanliness?”

Harry flipped through one of the archival yearbooks for Hogwarts they had taken from the reference section, looking through his parents’ class. “Seems everyone involved was a Gryffindor. Oh hey, look at this picture of Professor Snape in his 7th year.”

The little portrait of Snape glowered at them before grimacing and exiting the frame. “I guess his pictures are just as friendly as he is.” They both laughed.

“Even with all those doubts, there’s no answers here about what happened to Volde-” “Sshh!” Madam Pince walked by, hushing him.

“Fine, The Dark Lord You-know-who-who-shall-not-be-named.” The Hammer said with a roll of his eyes, “We still don’t know exactly what happened to him. There wasn’t a body, but for all the other records on how the killing curse works, there should’ve been a body rather than a house destroying explosion.”

He leaned back in his chair, bringing his pen up and idly chewing it in thought, eyes scanning back through the notes he had on the table. Hermione got up from her chair and disappeared into an aisle, shooting toward her destination like a rocket. Harry didn’t chase her - she was onto something and if he messed with that train of thought he was sure she would bite his head off. He tried to make sense of it - James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew were all Gryffindor students, a house not known for its conniving or particular penchant for anything other than noble bravery. Then again, there were a lot of other people in the same year. There was still too much noise to tell who else was important from that generation. Who were James and Lily’s other friends? The members of the House Quidditch team? Or were his parents like him, with only a few other friends they bothered to count on? Maybe Snape was his father’s Malfoy.

Hermione returned shortly with a tome that threatened to topple her, setting it on the table with a resounding thump. Madam Pince hissed at them for silence from somewhere up front. Hermione turned scarlet, doing her best to stay quiet as she flipped through the pages of the book. Somewhere in the middle, she stopped to open up the book on Wizarding Genealogy that Harry had started with, comparing the lines in it.

“So what’s on your mind?” Harry asked as she scribbled furiously onto her piece of parchment, sliding out a new one to continue her frantic note taking.

“The Potter family can be traced back to the 12th century to Linfred Stinchcombe who was famous for,” She looked to a third book that had been in Harry’s pile, “making some medicinal potions we still use today. Your family comes through his eldest son, Hardwin Potter who married a woman named Iolanthe Peverell.”

Harry nodded, “Uh-huh. What are you getting at?”

“You’re the last in the line of one of the oldest wizarding families on record in England, Harry. You’re basically nobility.”

The Hammer grumbled, “Nothing that posh here. I’m just a hawkshaw trying to get the truth.”

A grin slowly spread on Hermione’s face before she closed up the book and slid him her notes on the matter.

“‘Sides, from the way mum made it sound, Lily was born into being a witch the same way you were. I figure it’s what we choose to do with our abilities that makes us who we are and not just what out of touch fancy family you’re part of.”

He added her notes to his pile, shuffling through it and starting from the top, trying to out-think the problem in front of him. The Hammer made a sour face, his train of thought finally running in circles. If he had gone on for any longer, smoke would have come pouring out of his ears.

“Here.” Hermione extended a fist sized box toward him, the gold and blue filigree decorated with a title that declared it a chocolate frog, “I find a little bit of sweet helps me think.”

Harry took the box from her, opening it just wide enough the enchanted frog inside would try and have a go at jumping before closing the lid back down on it.

“Thanks. Still weirds me out a little that they thought frogs would be the best shape for a chocolate treat.” He opened the box and took a bite, leaving a mostly headless frog inside and pulling out the trading card from the bottom of the box.

“Who did you get?” Hermione asked, doing the same trick with her own frog to get it to behave.

“Looks like I got the Chief’s card.” He flipped it up so she could see Dumbledore’s smiling visage on the trading card.

“Chocolates!? IN THE LIBRARY!?” Madam Pince interrupted them, yelling shrilly to the point where they felt like she might shatter Harry’s glasses. Before either of them had a chance to respond she continued yelling, “GET OUT! GET OUT!” and raised a ruler in her hand they had never noticed before. Harry closed the box with the frog and started shoving his notes into his knapsack, Hermione doing the same whilst Madam Pince yelled at them to hurry up and leave with the snacks they had brought into her sacred space.


	16. Chapter 16

With the work on the case, having to serve detention, and needing to keep up with Hermione’s natural talent for magic, the Hammer found that time had flown and he was already nearing the end of his second full month at Hogwarts. It wasn’t quite home, but he enjoyed it more than any other school he had attended thus far. It was hard to beat learning about magic. He had begun to master more advanced techniques thanks to the extra tutoring he had received from Professor Longbaugh, his enthusiasm for the subject matter actually driving the Professor to tell him to relax and talk about club activities during the Muggle Culture club’s meetings instead of squirreling a few muggle items to a corner and practicing various spells on them with Hermione and Neville.

The wake up call on Halloween morning was the mouth watering smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors, setting the mood for the light day the school had planned for classes in preparation for the Halloween feast. Even Professor Snape seemed less abrasive than usual in their potions class, withholding some snide commentary about one of the other students. Professor McGonagall had given them explicit instructions on not trying out any form of human transfiguration in an attempt to scare their classmates along with the fact that anyone capable of transforming into an animal would be forced to register with the Ministry of Magic for being an animagus.

The Hammer took note of it, but didn’t put too much thought into the ability: the idea of turning into an animal made him feel queasy. If there was an elective for it later in school, he doubted he would take it. Coming into the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, the trio was greeted by the rippling illusion of thousands of bats clinging to the walls and ceiling while thousands more swooped about the room in undulating black masses that made the candles in the pumpkins flicker and wane. The feast itself appeared on their golden plates the same way it had at the start-of-term meal. They sat down as they usually did, enjoying the food and beginning to talk idly when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the open doors of the hall. He looked a mess with his turban askew and his robes weren’t helping him move any faster than the bedraggled pace he had forced himself into, sweat pouring down his already pale face.

“Troll!” He yelled, “In the dungeons,” he heaved for breath, “Thought you ought to know.”

He sank to the floor face down between the house tables, almost directly behind the Hammer and Hermione, his unconscious form causing the colour to drain away from Neville’s complexion. The dead silence that followed was ended abruptly by the first terrified scream piercing the night as the mass hysteria started. The Hammer spun around in his chair and used the panic to his advantage. 

Examining what he could see, he noted mud caked on the professor’s boots, but it was a different shade than the grounds immediately surrounding the castle. The mud that had been on Hagrid’s galoshes was a few shades darker and more coarse. The yellow-blue of a bruise was forming on a part of the Professor’s leg and the visible portion of his wrist. Aside from the drool that was leaking from his mouth, there was something in a very faint colour that adhered to his lips whose stain was two different shades. There were the flaky traces of something that had dried on the back of his neck that ran up under his turban. A few dog treats had fallen out of his pockets with his impact to the floor. The Hammer sneered and looked up to the staff table as the Chief shot out a chain of purple firecrackers to silence the crowd.

“That will be quite enough. Prefects, lead your houses back to the security of the dormitories, immediately!”

The Hammer scanned the table, eyes coming to focus on Snape as he felt that tingling pain in his scar coming back on. The Potions Master looked one way and then another whilst the house prefects gathered their colour coded students into groups, a furtive glance toward the side door in the great hall giving away his plan as he began to move.

“Hermione! Nev!” The Hammer tapped his friends, “Look at Snape. He’s making a run for it. We have to stick together and go after him.”

“Harry, we-” Hermione started, while Neville fought to regain his composure.

“I-I’m with you, Hammer.” Neville spoke up to Hermione’s surprise. Harry let himself be tugged into the flow of the Ravenclaw crowd, watching Robert HIlliard and Penelope Clearwater lead their house out the door behind the Gryffindors, Hufflepuff house not far behind. The Hammer kept his eye out for a convenient hallway to break off from the group, keeping himself next to Hermione while taking a glance back to Neville in his crowd at regular intervals. Their chance came not far off from the Great Hall as the Hufflepuff group tried to separate themselves from the rear section of the Ravenclaws.

“Let’s go!” Harry squeezed Hermione’s wrist with one hand and raised the other to give the high sign to Neville, moving laterally out and away from the Ravenclaw gaggle.

“Oi! Harry! Get back here!” Robert Hilliard had noticed him trying to duck out.

“Sod off, Bobby!” The Hammer gave him the rude two finger salute and started running, Neville and Hermione hot on his heels. They rounded a corner and got out of sight from the prefects, prompting Hermione to ask, “Harry, where are we going!?”

“This way,” the Hammer kept running, “Snape was slipping through the side exit to the Great Hall over here.”

They came upon the open door left in the professor’s wake, asked a portrait which way he had gone and took off after him. Following the largest corridors led them to a set of staircases that led upward to the next floor. “He’s definitely making a move for the Falcon.” The Hammer commented as they climbed the stairs.

Coming out onto the landing on the next floor, they slowed down as they advanced toward the next upward connecting stairwell in the nonsensically planned school. The Hammer froze in place, grabbing the other two with him to stop. The rumble of a heavy impact shook the floor beneath their feet. Dust shook itself out of the dark corners of the stones.

Hermione pulled on Harry’s arm, pointing toward a door labeled with a large “W”. Neville started screaming. Around the corner from them a massive form lumbered into view holding a club the size of a small car. The troll was as ugly as it was massive. The smell of rotting carcasses hit them first, its mottled grey skin the colour of decaying grime that hid facial features like a wax statue left too long under the sun. It towered over them with a height greater than Hagrid’s and a width that prevented them from going any further up the hallway. Hermione dragged Harry and Neville with her through the door, running as fast as they could.

They found themselves in a women’s lavatory, nothing but sinks and rows of toilet stalls adorning the walls that abruptly ended against the far wall of the room. The Hammer said a word his father used when things were really bad, eliciting a “Harry!” from Hermione.

“Get to the far side, stay quiet and hopefully we won’t have to-” They had barely gotten to the end of the room when the troll’s enormous club and three fingered hand came smashing through the wall above the door, collapsing a sizable section of the entire wall with it. Harry heard screams only to realize he had joined in at some point. The Hammer drew his wand and opened with the first offensive spell he could remember, “Incendio!”

A spate of orange flame jet out from the tip of Harry’s wand and impacted its great barrel chest, dispersing in a circular pattern around the site of the hit. The troll barely registered that any of this was happening, instead bringing up its gangly arm and looking at the remains of the broken club in its hand and trying to make sense of what had just happened to it. The three of them watched it turning over the wooden nub, beady yellow eyes staring at it while the gears turned in its head. After the sound of three deep heartbeats pounding in his ears, the Hammer tracked the troll tossing the remains of the club aside and looking up to face the three of them.

“Incendio Maxima!” “Locomotor Wibbly!” An even larger jet of flame came out of the Hammer’s wand, backed up with a flash of bluish light from Hermione’s. Neither seemed to have any effect on the great brute in spite of their efforts until it took a step forward. One leg in front of the other, it paused, seemingly unsure on its feet after a giant pace closer to the group. “Relashio!” Neville yelled next to the Hammer with a flick of his wand, a bulb of red light smashing against the troll’s dull grey skin. 

Nothing happened.

“Distract it!” The Hammer yelled to his friends, sprinting forward between the troll’s shaky legs. He slid between them and made it clear to the other side behind the monster to the sound of more spells bouncing harmlessly off its thick skin, turning around to see the troll leaning with one arm on the wall above the mirrors. The Hammer summoned the flask from his pouch and took a reckless leap onto the troll’s back, managing to wrap an arm around its enormous neck like trying to stranglehold Kilimanjaro. The unfamiliar weight on its back, the troll stood back up and began to reach for the Hammer.

Neville took distraction to a new direction, casting a loud series of poppers and fireworks that managed to confuse and annoy the troll as it took another step forward to close the distance. The troll’s response was as sudden as it was unexpected - moving its left arm from the wall, the swiftness of the strike caught Neville in his side, launching him clear into one of the bathroom stalls with a sickening crack. The boy’s screaming only angered the creature more as it spun around trying to grab at the weight on its back. The Hammer popped open the flask and started to pour it out onto the troll’s forehead, splashing the green liquid down the front to cover its chest. “Hermione!” The Hammer screamed, noticing a wispy silver outline of a woman’s head peeking in upside down from the ceiling, “I need some fire!”

Seeing Neville slammed into the wall with the crack of breaking bone had driven the terror home for her. She raised her wand in trembling hand and yelled uncertainly, “Incendio!” She yelled again, waving the wand like a useless conductor’s rod in her hand, “Incendio!” Tears were beginning to flow down her cheeks in desperation, “Incendio!” A futile puff of smoke came out of the end of her wand.

Harry continued riding the beast until a great pressure exerted itself around his torso, squeezing the wind out of him. He reached down and summoned his father’s lighter from the pouch, clutching the brass rectangle in his hands as he tried to open it and spark a flame. “Hermione!” he strained to speak with what little air was still in his lungs before he was whipped about by the troll into the wall with a crack as his face made contact with unyielding stone. Blood poured from his nose and tears streamed from his eyes in pain as he tossed the lighter toward the bushy silhouette in his hampered vision, fighting the pain to try and stay conscious. As suddenly as it began, he found himself flying toward where the door had been, hitting a pile of rubble and coming to rest.

Hermione watched Harry land in a pile of ruined stone, barely moving as the blood continued to stream from his nose and down onto his clothes. She was beside herself, shaking hands picking up the brass rectangle and flipping it open, thumb running the stone wheel twice before sparking a flame. She threw it at the troll’s chest and collapsed down into a mess in the corner as the oil ignited.

The great beast caught fire in a wild green conflagration, wailing loudly with a deep inhuman voice as it beat itself with its own hands trying to extinguish the searing heat. Its efforts only succeeded in spreading the fire to its hands and arms, the Byzantine oil catching as it was designed to do.

She watched it with one arm still stretched up like it was being held by a marionette string, her hand barely grasping her wand, no spells coming to mind that would save her from this. The flaming troll lumbered backwards, still trying its damndest to put out the flames, drawing dangerously close to the Hammer.

“Hey, Ugly!” A commanding voice called from outside the lavatory. The troll spun toward the noise on instinct, still screaming in guttural agony. A red blast hit the green flames, extinguishing them like a strong wind had coursed through a burning valley, revealing the charred, peeling skin beneath the effects of the burning oil. The sound of pulsing thunder filled the room, three short booms in quick succession. Three holes appeared in the marred, red flesh of the troll’s chest, thumb-sized voids spread in a cluster no larger than a human fist. The troll fell, the light of life gone from its eyes.

The last thing the Hammer remembered from the lavatory was the jingling of spur clad footsteps.

***

Harry awoke in a dark infirmary, muted shapes of others in the beds nearby blending with the silhouettes of things lost in the dark. He looked around and found his glasses on a table next to his bed, repaired from their earlier impact. Above him, the moonlight luminescence of a ghost hovered in wait.

“Thanks for the rescue.” The Hammer found his voice different than usual, the feeling of a bandage across the bridge of his nose providing the explanation.

“You were reckless.” Her ghostly voice wasn’t admonishing.

“Slow and careful wasn’t going to solve the problem.”

One side of her lips creeped upwards into a lopsided smirk and she floated up through the ceiling. The Hammer sat in silence and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. It wasn’t worth it. Going after the troll like that hadn’t been a good decision. Something burned in his gut that was the feeling of guilt and embarrassment.

The clouds outside moved and let in the moonlight, the pale beams highlighting the people sharing the beds near him. It was Neville and Hermione. They were his friends. They had followed him into his mistake and paid dearly for it. A bottle of some bone-pun named concoction sat next to his bed and Neville’s. Nev had a broken arm by the look of things. Looking over at Hermione’s bed, she tossed and turned in spite of the sleeping draught they had given her. She whimpered quietly in the night. The feeling of a burning blade in his gut drove him to take off his glasses and lay back down in bed, letting his wheels spin about the case before the dark of sleep overtook him.

The morning came to him at first light, the three of them awakening and seeing each other again in the hindsight of their own retrospective. “What happened to you?” Neville asked the Hammer when he saw him conscious.

“Troll grabbed me and slammed my face into the wall. Broke my nose, I guess. How’s it with you?”

“Last thing I remember was landing in the toilet with the feeling of a red hot poker in my arm. It just kind of itches now.” He held up his mended arm for Harry to see.

They both looked to Hermione who had drawn her knees up and was hugging them. “It didn’t touch me,” she said, staring into the distance straight ahead, “but, I… I killed it.”

The two boys looked at her, then between each other, unsure of what to say.

“I don’t… I’ve never… I’ve never killed anything before. I didn’t think I could.”

“You saved our lives, Hermione.” the Hammer said.

Hermione avoided his gaze and tucked her face behind her knees. Harry climbed out of his bed and went over next to hers, sitting on the edge of the bed.Neville joined him on the opposite side.

“Hammer’s right, Hermione. You were very, very brave. If you hadn’t done what you did, I don’t think any of us would be here to talk about it.”

The Hammer put his hand on top of Hermione’s, “Ya did good, kid.” She sniffed, then pinched him on the back of the hand without looking at him. They sat in silence a while, the sound of the water lapping at the cliffs coming from far below them.

“One of them was making a move for that package last night.” Harry spoke up.

“But which one?” Neville asked. The Hammer explained what he had observed the previous night from Quirrell’s inconsistent injuries and Snape’s reactions to the troll. It solidified the actors in the play but didn’t make their motives any clearer.

“I-” Hermione spoke up when he was done, her voice still muted in her thighs, “I don’t think-”

The two boys waited for her to come up with the words to speak her mind.

“I don’t know if I can keep going with the case.”

No one responded to her statement for long enough that Hermione looked up. They were both still there. Neville looked worried. The Hammer looked grim.

“Say something.” She pleaded. The Hammer looked at Neville, then back to her, “I can’t force you to keep going, but I can’t solve this mystery without you. There was a reason I told you about it on the train. There was a reason I picked you. I think you’re clever enough to help me crack it. I think you’re better enough to make sure it gets done right. Right, Nev?”

Neville nodded emphatically, “You're the best witch in our year. You might be the best witch in the whole school. You took to magic like a fish to water. I’d be worried if you stopped helping us. Besides, didn’t you always say that Hammer’s a bad influence on me?”

A beat passed before they all broke into slow smiles that ended in light laughter.

“I think we need to figure out what’s in the package.” Hermione suggested after a while, “We can’t keep working in the dark like this, chasing ghosts.”

“Yeah, I’m getting a little tired of whoever it is wanting whatever it is for something nefarious.” Neville gesticulated with his good arm at the vagueness of their enemies.

The Hammer reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled chocolate frog card, the one of Dumbledore he had gotten from the box he ate in the library a week and change ago.

“I knew it.” He said, turning it over to read the blurb they had for the Headmaster, “I swore I saw Flamel’s name somewhere recently. It was here! The Chief worked with him on alchemical projects!” He passed the card to his friends, letting them read over the new clue.

“Then they’re sure to have something on him in the library!” Hermione said after reading the paragraph.

“But it also narrows down the list of possible artifacts, doesn’t it?” Neville asked, “Now we can probably guess that it’s an alchemy related item rather than that laundry list you two had going before.”

The Hammer beamed, “That’s right! Good on you, Nev, using that deductive reasoning. I am a little sad it isn’t that set of nesting dolls, though. Those sounded like tremendous fun.”

Before they could discuss the case further, Madam Pomfrey opened the door to the infirmary with Professor Longbaugh not far behind her. The three children froze and watched the two adults enter. They looked between each other and reached an understanding: they couldn’t trust the grown ups anymore.

“Mr. Longbottom. Ms. Granger. Mr. Mason.” The cowboy tipped his hat to them.

“Professor.” They replied.

Madam Pomfrey shooed the two boys back to their own beds, checking both over for the status of their ailments before removing the temporary bandaging she had applied the night before.

“I’d say you all have a clean bill of health and the skele-gro has done its job setting your bones back in order. Though I doubt it will happen again, try not to fight anymore mountain trolls.” The Madam looked to Professor Longbaugh, “I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure the headmaster will have something to say about this.” She disappeared back out the door and closed it softly behind her.

“She’s right. The Headmaster wants to see you once you leave the infirmary, Harry.” Longbaugh said, “But before we go anywhere, I want to know what the heck you kids were thinking.”

“We were running down a lead, Professor. Someone was acting suspicious and it couldn’t wait. It had to be then.” Longbaugh took a deep breath, adjusting his belt, “you know what, I don’t think it was even that. Why did you set it on fire? You should know by now that mountain trolls are resistant to magic and fire. You put yourselves in a lot more danger than necessary doing that stunt with whatever it was you poured on it.”

“...it was Greek Fire.” The Hammer mumbled quietly to the side.

“Gree-” The Professor started and cut himself off, his frustrated looking expression disappearing behind his hat after he took it off and held it in front of his face like he was going to yell obscenities into it. After yet another deep breath, he put it back on the top of his head, “Y’know what, I didn’t hear that. But if it were up to me I’d be handing out remedial DADA for you three for the rest of the year on top of whatever else is coming. Harry, let’s go. I’ll take you to the headmaster’s office.”

The Hammer grabbed his hat off the nightstand and blew his nose, throwing the bloody tissue away in a nearby bin. He had gotten some answers, but now there was a different set of questions to ask.


	17. Chapter 17

The Hammer was tired of playing the backbeat. The answers were right there in front of him and it was so maddeningly close to him he could feel it brushing his fingertips. Professor Longbaugh didn’t have any more to say after leaving the infirmary, instead silently leading Harry to the office. The only words he spoke were “Butterscotch Dandies”, the new password to the gargoyle. Once inside, Harry took a seat in the familiar chair across the desk. After sitting down, he felt Longbaugh’s hand on his shoulder,

“Good luck, kid.” The Professor said before turning to leave, the sound of his boots clicking on the stones fading away down the stairs. After he left, the Hammer heard the grinding of the gargoyle sliding back into place, leaving him shut up alone in the room again. Looking for the hat on the shelf, he found its stand empty. Some time later, a door at the far end of the room behind the desk opened and Dumbledore stepped out of it, a large red bird sitting on his shoulder. The bird studied Harry sidelong before taking flight from the old man to a perch in a recessed area.

“Ah, Harry. I’m disappointed to see you again so soon in circumstances such as these.”

“Chief.” The Hammer acknowledged him. Dumbledore made his way over to his chair and took a seat. The Headmaster seemed much older than the last time Harry had seen him, the lines on his face more sunken, his gait a little more like what the Hammer expected from someone his age.

“I’m told Professor Longbaugh found you as well as Mr. Longbottom and Ms. Granger in the remains of the second floor women’s lavatory.”

“Yep.”

“This was after you three had slipped away from your houses and your prefects chasing after..?” He left a pregnant pause.

“Not a mountain troll, for one.”

“Then why did you put yourselves in danger?”

“Because the people you’re playing chess against made a move for the package you’re protecting. At this point, I’m convinced everyone knows where in the house it is, Chief.”

“As I said, we are doing our utmost to protect it.”

“You know what, I’m tired of the lies and misdirection. I’ll lay out all my cards on the table if you do the same. That sound like a fair shake, Chief?”

Dumbledore raised both of his bushy white eyebrows, looking at Harry quizzically, “I suppose that sounds like a fair trade. I assume you want me to go first, Mr. Potter?” His tone was more amused than condescending. It was the mirth of old age.

“No, I can go first. I bet I can nail one or two things to the wall before you even spot them.”

Dumbledore leant back in his chair, clasping his hands together, the tilt of his plump purple hat begging others to not take him so seriously, “Do go ahead then.”

“Some time before I turned 11 you were given a package to protect. So you did the reasonable thing and put it into a Gringotts vault. Probably not even the London Gringotts just to be sure; maybe you moved it around some so no one could find it. Eventually you moved it to the London branch of Gringotts and let it rest for just long enough that you can retrieve it because you knew I was about to come of age and whether or not Ol’ Voldy was still around, some mook was going to come after it.” Dumbledore nodded in silence.

“From there, Chief, you brought the thing here. Not you, but we know who you have as cat’s paws. So you stick it in the third floor room up there behind a magic guard dog and who knows what else to keep it safe, but you announce it at the start of term so anyone even vaguely in the know can figure it out. That put me in the position of evaluating students and staff as likely culprits - but if it was a student they’d have to be extremely skilled in the art of sneaking around, which really only leaves the Weasley twins or a member of the staff. So I figure it has to be a teacher.”

Dumbledore continued to look on with a twinkle in his eye and a practiced poker face.

“So which teacher? Someone that would betray you on the inside just to get a chance to get at me. That’s why you want to keep me around. But I got it pegged that it’s either Snape or Quirrell.”

“ _ Professor _ Snape and  _ Professor _ Quirrell.” Dumbledore corrected him, shifting in his seat to lean his elbows on the desk, hands still clasped. The Hammer took it as a tell.

“Yeah, well one of those two hates my birth father for some reason and hates me just as much. The other seems to be wandering to muddy somewheres that don't have dirt patterns that match the exterior of the school grounds. So the only thing left is to figure out what  _ it _ is.”

The Hammer took out the crumpled chocolate frog card and slid it portrait side down across the desk, “Which is where Nicholas Flamel comes in, Chief. I’ve got it on good authority that you’ve got an alchemical artifact locked away in there and it might be something as powerful as the Philosopher’s Stone. So what is it you’re hiding, Chief? What’s so damn important that one of those two gunsels might’ve brought in a troll to murder students so he’d have a chance to make a play for it?”

Dumbledore’s expression had shifted from a placid, amused mask to a graven, serious one as he picked up the trading card and looked at the writing. His eyes looked old and terribly sad.

“It is an artifact which has the power to resurrect Voldemort and restore him to physical form, Harry.” There was a wistful edge to his voice. So it was the Philosopher’s Stone.

“Call me the Hammer.”

“Blunt force and dogged resolve won’t always help you solve your problems, Harry. I’ve been bearing the brunt of responsibility for this object, but also for your upbringing here at Hogwarts. There are things much larger than this that you haven’t been told yet - things that you cannot understand now. There are patterns larger than you, larger than me, larger than just this school which are at work so won’t you consider letting this sleeping dog lie for the time being?”

“I can’t, Chief. Not when everything is being run by an old man playing chess - trying to keep his friends close and his enemies as close as he can without bringing him back from the dead.”

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair again with eyes closed before wiping at their corners with his suddenly frail looking hands.

“Harry, believe me when I say that all I want for you is that you should be able to enjoy your life and your youth without all of this trouble about being the rumoured chosen one, the Dark Lord, prophecies, or a larger war between good and evil. Yet time and time again you’ve chosen to interfere, to pry, or to simply batter your way in. I’m forced to give you additional detention for this latest infraction. All of you this time. Ms. Granger, Mr. Longbottom, and yourself will serve a detention with Hagrid after the winter holidays. And Harry,” He replaced the spectacles on his ancient face, “If you were planning on staying here over the break? Don’t. You’ll be going home to your aunt Petunia.”

The Hammer sat back down into the chair, his weight pushing the air out of the cushions like a dying wheeze. He had been planning on staying to keep researching the case. Before he could argue, Dumbledore spoke again, “Don’t, Harry. This is for your own good as well as the school’s. Take the time to enjoy your vacation. Relish your youth. Cherish your friends and family. You never know how long you’ll have with them.” The Chief’s voice was heavy with the wisdom of age, “You’re free to leave, Harry. Please pass on my decision to the other two.”

The Hammer wanted to open his mouth and keep arguing, but something in his gut stilled his tongue. He sighed a deep and heavy sigh before getting up from the chair, leaving the Chief alone again.

****

The weeks passed and winter came, covering Hogwarts in a blanket of white as the staff began decorating for the season. Hagrid had brought a dozen trees up to the Great Hall and the other professors had helped him to bedeck them and the walls with cheery decorations. The Hammer found himself hanging out with the Weasley twins and their brother, Ron, in the great Hall during some of their downtime - the Hall was kept as one of the warmest rooms in the school at all times and much to Harry’s chagrin, the airiness of the Ravenclaw tower only lent to a freezing atmosphere. Harry had found out all the Weasley children would be staying at the school over break because their parents were going to Romania to visit their brother Charlie - a dragonologist from their description. Still mulling over the case in the back of his mind, the Hammer was happy to let Ron talk about everything from Charlie’s work to how Gryffindor was doing in quidditch that season. He was immensely proud of their victory over Slytherin in the first game of the year.

Hermione came into the hall half an hour before dinner and handed him a folded piece of paper before sitting down. Opening it up, he found that she had written an address and phone number on it.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“My telephone number and address, obviously.” She said with a roll of her eyes.

“What’s a tee-lay-phon?” Asked Ron.

Harry explained the basics of how a telephone worked to him and Hermione invited him to the Muggle Culture Club at the end of it.

“Why’re you giving me your number?” The Hammer asked, oblivious.

“Because Owls are conspicuous and you don’t have one. That and mum and dad have invited you and your family over to our house for Christmas dinner.”

“Oh! O.K! I’ll have to talk to mum and dad about it - maybe we can have them chat with your parents at King’s Cross when we get back?” They held a smile between each other long enough for the twins to start making kissy noises. The two turned a shade of scarlet and looked away from each other, mumbling any nonsense as soon as it came to them.

Eventually, the rest of their peers arrived for dinner.

****

On the final day of term, Professor McGonagall handed out an informational letter at breakfast and addressed the crowd informing them that, as students, they were expressly forbidden from using magic at home until they were 17 years old.

“How would they even know?” Harry asked.

“The Trace, of course.” Padma Patil answered him.

“What is that?”

“It’s a spell they’ve got on all the magical children in Britain. It doesn’t break til you turn 17. That’s how they make sure you’re not using magic at home.” She replied.

“Are you kidding me? We all have-” He was shushed as the Professor continued her announcements in regards to the holidays. The Hammer was mad, but he pushed the matter aside. There had to be a way to get the spell removed early.

Once they were released, the Hammer had packed up his trunk and carried it down the stairs after him with the levitation spell, locking it and leaving it with the pile of others that were bound for the holiday express home out of the Hogsmeade station. From there he joined his fellow Ravenclaws at the table, taking his usual seat but feeling more eyes and rumour-laced whispers about him. His loss of more house points than most people could gather in a reasonable amount of time hadn’t made him the favourite of anyone other than the current competition leader Slytherin; but after the violent outburst with Malfoy followed by the slaying of a mountain troll no one wanted to risk his ire. Instead, they were content on building his legend in ways that were nigh nonsensical to the Hammer. Some of the word on the street portrayed him still as Ravenclaw’s favourite for how often they had seen him interacting with Helena’s ghost, while others had taken a more macabre light in attributing his vanquishing of the troll to vampirism. The mention of the latter had lost some Gryffindors house points when they spoke of it in the presence of a visibly shaken Professor Quirrell. Harry’s favorite rumour was that someone had dosed him with that tainted batch of Felix Felices and this was the rotten luck manifesting itself.

The Hammer shrugged and enjoyed his tea, talking to Neville over his shoulder about his holiday plans. His Hufflepuff compatriot didn’t look very enthused to be going home, but he had expressed his relief that there would be a few weeks in his life without having to fight monsters. Or Professors. The only thing the Hammer wanted was for him to stand up for himself with his Gran.

The three of them left Hogwarts together, boarding the holiday train home and settling into a carriage. As enjoyable as it was to feel the weight of the school’s surroundings lifted off his shoulders, the Hammer was still ruminating on the case. It was like being told to turn in your badge and gun and go on administrative leave. Without any means to make progress, Harry gave his best attempt at enjoying his vacation even with the feeling of contempt about the Trace still in his mind.

Coming back to the King’s Cross station was a shock to the senses - the smell of gasoline exhaust from London in general and the sound of motor traffic was a welcome change from the countryside peace of the school grounds. Grant and Petunia were waiting for him near the cafe they had breakfasted at back in September. Aside from them there seemed to be a lot of other muggle parents who couldn’t find their way to Platform 9 ¾ proper. The Hammer had emerged with a small gaggle of other muggle-raised children, but spotted and was spotted by his parents immediately: after all, he was the only one dressed like Bogart in the crowd.

Grant urged Petunia forward as they closed the distance and she knelt down to hug him.

“Welcome back, Harry.” She spoke into his ear.

“It’s good to be back.” He replied, letting go of his mum to receive a hug from his father.

Grant looked like he had a few more grey hairs since Harry had last seen him, but Petunia was still as comely as ever - an extra aura of loveliness that the Hammer finally parsed as being the result of a perfectly crafted and refined decoction. The results were captivating and for a moment he wondered if any of Lily’s talent had passed on to him. It was a shame about how it reacted to muggle physiology.

“I have to admit,” Grant said, standing up, “receiving that first letter from school when you got there was kind of frightening when the owl wouldn’t leave.”

“What did you do?” Harry asked.

“I had to go get a slice of chicken from the refrigerator to feed it once I saw what you had written. I think it was rather annoyed.” They laughed at the anecdote, Harry looking around in the crowd to the other parental reunions and seeing Hermione with hers. He led them over, introducing the Grangers blindly, “So this is my friend Hermione and I suppose these are her parents.”

“Tom and Fiona,” the older Grangers smiled, shaking hands with the two Masons. “Grant and Petunia.”

“So our little Hermione has been telling us that Harry’s quite the student. Developed a bit of a reputation, from what I understand.” Grant took a quick look down at the Hammer, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Harry’s written home about Hermione as well - he’s been saying how she’s one of the only people in school who knew what he was talking about when it came to conducting an investigation and American detective movies.”

The adults shared knowing looks before descending into pleasantries and in depth introductions like what they did for a living and how bad the commute was in London.

“Mr. And Mrs. Granger,” Harry interrupted when the opportunity presented itself, “Hermione tells me that you wanted to extend an invitation to my mum and dad?”

“Oh, right, thank you, Harry.” Harry mumbled his usual request to the side as an automatic reaction, but this time Hermione pinched him gently on his side.

“Fiona and I wanted to invite your family over for Christmas dinner. Seems like a great time to get to know each other since we’re - what was it you called us, dear?”

“Muggles, dad.”

“Yes, that was it, Muggles. Since Harry and Hermione are both so gifted it wouldn’t hurt for us regular folk to support each other, eh?” Tom said with a wink.

“I think we can take you up on that, right Petunia?” Grant turned to her, “We hadn’t had anything planned aside from spending time with Harry.”

“That’s right, we’ll be glad to go.” Petunia confirmed.

“We’ll look forward to seeing you, then. Did you already give Harry our address, dear?” Fiona asked Hermione, who nodded.

“Wonderful! It’s been fantastic to meet you all, but we really must run - we’ve made a reservation with some out-of-town family for dinner since they wanted to catch up with Hermione after her first semester at ‘boarding school’.” He made the little quotes with his fingers. The two families parted ways and Harry began to catch Grant and Petunia up on the events of his school year thus far with some heavy redactions.

Putting his trunk into the boot of his father’s car, Harry asked his father to stop by the Library before they headed home. His father took the request in stride - it was an amusing reminder of how one-tracked his adopted son’s mind was. Before going into the library, Harry held out a silver Sickle to him,

“Er, what is this, son?”

“It’s wizard money, dad. I just need to get some change for the copy machine.”

Grant took the coin and looked it over, handing it to Petunia to see before grabbing a handful of quid and pence coins from his pocket and giving them over to the Hammer.

“We’ll be up front somewhere, probably the new paperbacks.” Grant said before Harry bounded out of the car. Inside, Harry beelined for the reference collection’s copy of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Even if muggle subjects were unreliable and possibly demeaning toward their magical counterparts, he figured the myths and legends involved in their retellings could point him in the right direction.

Harry used up all the change his father had given him on copying related materials on Alchemy, following up his initial search with more notes on the Magnum Opus, or Philosopher’s Stone, with their cultural equivalents such as the Cintamani stone. It was a hell of an item if it was real, supposedly capable of transmuting lead to gold, or more importantly granting the owner an elixir that would grant them eternal life. Satisfied with his limited research, the Hammer folded up his notes into his belt pouch and went to find his parents.

Coming home to his room, he set down onto his bed and was immediately bothered by the empty space that had been left by the removal of his thought board. He groaned, fighting the twin urges to ruminate on the case and to be a lazy lump on his mattress. He got out of bed with an exasperated grunt by asking himself ‘What would Philip Marlowe do?’.

****

Christmas in the Mason home was usually a holiday of convenience, one Harry would stay up extra late for if Grant had to work on the day itself. The Hammer could count on one hand the number of late celebrations he had, running out into the cold in his pyjamas to greet his returning father. Thankfully this year looked to be one where Grant wouldn’t be caught up with any active casework. Even the criminals had decided to take a break. In the days intervening, the Masons did their Christmas shopping, picking up a bottle of wine to share with the Grangers as well as their own gifts.

The morning of Christmas day, Harry was up before everyone, finding a present waiting under the tree for him. He didn’t waste any time bursting into it, finding that it was a wrist-rocket catapult.

“Up early, I see.” Grant came plodding down the rest of the stairs and took a seat on the floor next to Harry. The boy leant over and hugged his father, “Thanks, dad!”

“You’ll have to thank your mother for this one. I wouldn’t have been able to get it if she hadn’t given her permission. Remember to be responsible with it. Don’t shoot it at anyone or use anything that won’t disintegrate on impact.”

“Right, right.” Harry said, looking down and away while he rolled his eyes. A moment later, he stood and ran over to the kitchen, catching Petunia in a surprise hug.

“Thanks, mum.” He said with a smile that matched his age. Petunia placed her hands on his head and let the hug continue, “I got you a present from Hogwarts.” The Hammer said to her. Harry let go and ran upstairs to his trunk, drawing out the gift and bringing it back down to her.

Petunia went over to the couch and opened up the wrapping, finding a framed photograph inside. She gasped,

“They move!” Petunia said, running her fingers over the glass as a teenage Lily and James waved back from inside the photo.

“I found it in their club photos at school.” Harry explained. Petunia drew Harry into a hug with her free arm while still gazing at the photo. “When I was your age, Lily was always out and about-” Petunia told Harry stories about his mother, old sepia toned childhood memories whose sharp edges had rounded with time and age. Life hadn’t been particularly kind to the Evans children, but there was no reason to have anything but love left in their memories. The way Petunia told it, there was a lanky, greasy haired boy from down the street that Lily was friends with who had tried to convince her that she was better than her family because of her ability to do magic. Lily wouldn’t hear a word of it. The Hammer couldn’t help but be proud of the mother he had never known.

Despite trying to walk Petunia back through the memory, she couldn’t remember the name of the friend. The Hammer had wanted to find out so he would be able to hear more stories about his birth mother or even the Potter family if that person had kept in touch with her after they left school.

They left for Christmas dinner in the evening and it turned out that Hermione lived fairly close. Her address was a house in North Hampstead that wasn’t much trouble to get to even with last minute Christmas traffic. The Hammer held onto a gift Petunia had helped him wrap the whole way there. The two older Masons exchanged a knowing look and a smile while Harry looked out the window to observe the city passing by around them.

Dr. Granger greeted them at the door, answering after the first three knocks Grant placed on it.

“Grant, Petunia, Harry! Good to see you again. Please, come in, it must be a fright out there.” The Masons stepped in, shaking some of the fresh fallen powder from themselves as Grant offered up the bottle of port to Tom.

“Oh, thank you, thank you. Fiona’s in the kitchen working on the last bit of preparations before it’ll all be ready, but please come on in and have a seat. Harry, I think Hermione’s still upstairs in her room, I’ll go call her down after I settle this away.”

He invited them into the sitting room after they had taken their coats off. Tom put the wine into a chiller underneath the kitchen counter, telling Fiona that the Masons had arrived before walking to the stairs and calling up, “Hermione! Your friend Harry and his family are here!”

“Be right there!” Harry registered Hermione’s voice call down faintly from her room.

“-cocious little boy. Has he always-” The Hammer heard the adults mention him in passing conversation. He stopped paying mind to it almost as soon as he had tuned in - it was a familiar conversation about how focused and intelligent he seemed to be for his age. The Hammer had heard the song and dance before, but at least this time there would be another child involved who shared in his own predicament. Hermione came in a few moments later with a small package in her hand, bushy hair tamed just barely into a ponytail. He stood and met her at the entrance of the room.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.” She greeted him, holding out the little brightly decorated rectangle.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.” He said with a smirk, holding out his own gift.

“Same time?” He asked. “Same time.” She said. They both began ripping apart the wrapping on their presents - Harry made a mess of his like a lion on the savannah while Hermione slipped her index finger under one of the taped folds and ripped it open in a way that let her slide it out from inside.

Harry had gotten her a pair of novels, ‘The Maltese Falcon’ and ‘The Big Sleep’ - essential reading for understanding hard boiled detectives and their fiction. Hermione had gotten him a new pocket notebook set, a leather cover on one with a spare fill wrapped with it.

“I love it, thanks Hermione.” “Yours was looking full.” She replied.

“You were always wondering where I got my ideas from, so I figured it was high time you got a peek into what I like.” He explained. “I love it Harry, but what about Bogart?”

“Maybe we can watch one together sometime.” She nodded. The two of them stopped, looking back towards the adults. The room had gone silent without either of them noticing. Fiona had even come out to watch. Grant had a shit eating grin on his face. The two kids turned bright red.

****

At dinner, their parents’ conversation inevitably turned toward school and after school activities.

“So Harry, Hermione tells me that you fancy yourself a detective?” Fiona asked him.

“Much as I can, anyway. I’d still like to join the Met like my dad, but in the meanwhile there are a few cases I solve from time to time that people bring me.”

“Oh, so like the Hardy Boys?”

“Don’t compare me to those two bit hacks,” Hermione kicked him under the table, “I’ve solved my fair share of mysteries.”

Mrs. Granger was amused rather than insulted, laughing instead at his precociousness and intellectual seriousness about working as a detective.

****

Dinner at the Grangers went on late into the night, the Masons excusing themselves after a few polite glasses of the Port. By the time they had gotten home it was a mutual agreement to head straight to bed.

The morning of the day after Christmas, a snowy white owl landed on his sill and tapped against the glass, a small package wrapped up in its claws. Harry opened his window and accepted the package, petting the owl a few times with the back of his hand in thanks. Once the bird had flown off, he took the card from the top of it and opened it. The letter was unsigned but handwritten.

“Your father left this in my care before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very merry Christmas to you.” Harry was fairly sure he had seen the handwriting before, putting the letter away to look at it later. Opening the package, he found a large silvery blanket-like cloth that felt like someone had managed to sew together the silkiness of rushing water. It practically hummed with the feeling of magical importance. In a reverential hush, the Hammer opened it up fully, finding that the side facing him was a comforting fuzzy texture, but seeing the back side in the mirror there was… nothing. The Hammer flipped it back and forth a few times like it was a stage magician’s trick before draping it over himself and finding that every part that the cloth covered disappeared from sight. He could feel the adrenaline fueled tingling in his fingers as he doffed the cloak and shoved it in his trunk, trying to contain the vibrating excitement he felt as he hurried downstairs. In the living room, he grabbed the receiver base of the phone and dragged the cord as far as he could toward a corner and then dialed Hermione’s number, walking toward the most private spot he could reach with the remaining coiled cord.

“Hello, this is Fiona speaking.” Her mum picked up the phone.

“Er, hello Mrs. Granger! This is Harry, from yesterday? I was wondering if I could speak to Hermione.”

“Oh? Hello there, I’ll go get her. Already making plans to see that film?” Harry felt himself flush at the collar and didn’t know why. A minute later, a familiar voice came on the line, “Hello?” She asked.

“Hermione, someone mailed me an invisibility cloak. The note that came with it said it was my father’s. I think I’m meant to use it to solve the case!”

“What? Harry, slow down! Start from the beginning.” So he started with the owl and explained what he had seen.

“Harry do you know what this means? Do you know how powerful an invisibility cloak is?”

“No, do you?”

“No! That’s what worries me! It’s not like they just sell them at Marks & Spencer’s! Even in Diagon Alley, a cloak of true true invisibility is a rare, expensive item!”

“Well, I just inherited one, apparently. It’ll be great for solving the case. I’ve got some more theories I want to talk to you about but I don’t know-”

Harry was interrupted by the sound of his father tripping over the extended phone cable and landing on the couch, “Crap, gotta go!”


	18. Chapter 18

The Hammer rounded out the rest of his break practising with his Christmas gift in the backyard by shooting dirt clods and spending time with his family. Any story Petunia had to tell about Lily, he was interested in hearing them. The picture had reawoken a family connection they had shared, a history that Harry realized he had been ignoring in favor of avoiding confrontation. By the time he had boarded the Hogwarts Express back to school on the last day of his vacation, he was rested and recharged with a few more ideas on how he was going to investigate this mystery. Seeing Neville and Hermione again on the train felt like he had never left - they spent a good bit of the trip filling Neville in on the developments of the break, including locking their cabin door so Harry could show off the invisibility cloak unmolested.

“So what were you going to look for next, Hammer?” Neville asked after settling all the current clues in his head.

“The Chief said something that stuck with me when he was talking about what was going to happen with us and that detention - he mentioned that he wanted me to be able to live my life without having to worry about being the chosen one, the war between good and evil, and a prophecy. You got any idea what he meant by that, Nev?”

“I mean, there’s a class we have as an elective after third year. Divination usually has prophecies and future predicting involved.” The pure blooded wizard replied matter-of-factly.

“Wait. So you’re telling me there’s a whole class dedicated to predicting the future?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Why did no one tell me about this!? If we can use magic to figure out the future then what the heck are we doing wasting time trying to figure stuff out the old fashioned way when I can just look in a crystal ball, wave my wand, and see what’s next?”

“Well, that is to say, divination isn’t an exact kind of thing…” Neville answered.

“I think I’d like to take it when we’re allowed electives.” Hermione said.

“We’ll worry about that if we’re not expelled by then,“ she swatted his shoulder, “but we can go talk to the divination teacher now. Or y’know, when we get to school.”

They all nodded conspiratorially, agreeing that they’d seek out the divination teacher as soon as they had free time at school. The rest of the ride was without incident - Harry even sprung for a few treats on the passing refreshment trolley, buying a round of hot chocolate for his friends along with a large box of chocolate frogs to share. He studied his friends’ cards ravenously, trying to glean if there were any new facts he could learn from the trading cards of famous wizards.

Asking about the location of the Divination class from an older student, he was told that it was taught by one Professor Trelawney in the North Tower of the castle. Following the map that Harry had made led them to the long, spiraling stairwell which led up to the top of the tower. It was a dizzying walk to the peak - one they probably didn’t need to make during a lunch break, but by the time they realised it was so arduous they were already committed to the venture.

The staircase ended in a ladder, which made Harry wonder if they had a magical means to make this easier for students with mobility problems. Popping open the trapdoor at the top of the ladder released the heavy smells of incense and patchouli, the decor of the room doing it no favors to dissipate the stereotype of a fortune teller in a travelling sideshow. The room reminded the Hammer of someone crashing a car full of Egyptian revival decor into a Romani thrift store: there were shelves full of classroom use crystal balls and tea sets, and the windows were covered in silken cloths which altered the colour of the light in the room into a stuffy array of reds and purples.

“Hello! I had foreseen your arrival, but…” A completely disheveled woman with the airs of a gangly insect draped in a few layers of faded, multicoloured shawls, peering out from behind soda-bottle glasses blinked uncertainly at them, “it isn’t often I see first years come up here. My class is an elective for older students, what is it you three desire of me?” She stepped closer to the group and the Hammer could smell the remains of cheap sherry clinging to her.

“You’re… Professor Trelawney?” Hermione asked, hesitating a moment.

“Yes, yes child. You three have journeyed far to seek my wisdom, have you not?” She whipped around from her place next to a hearth that was built in the room, casting an ominous shadow across the whole of it.

“Well, we are skipping lunch and it is quite a long ways up here.” Neville replied to her, simultaneously trying to avoid looking at her while also staring like he would have to defend himself from a beast.

“Just to cut through it, we’re here because the Chief, Professor Dumbledore, he mentioned something about a prophecy. Since Neville here said that you’re the local seer and teach the Divination class I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”

The professor closed the distance between them again, eyeing the Hammer inquisitively, “And who are you?”

“The name’s Harry. Harry Potter-Mason. You can call me the Hammer.”

The professor recoiled in horror when the Hammer introduced himself, “No! It’s too soon, the mist has not yet cleared!” She muttered to herself, pacing from one side of the room to the other.

“Alright, lady. What’s the deal? We do hocus pocus on the regular for class, stop showboating and tell me what the skinny is on this prophecy thing.” Harry was having none of it.

“The secrets are not lost, but waiting. Prepare, for they come ever faster.” Trelawney said, with a motion of her hands like she was wafting the aether into her ears.

“Is there a professor in this school that’ll just tell us the truth the first time around?” The Hammer asked, shaking his head.

“You tread on dangerous, deadly ground, young Harry. We all work here under the auspices of Headmaster Dumbledore and in those tides many before you have seen the rise and fall of much darker things before you.”

“So you’re saying there’s a prophecy about why Voldylocks wanted to try and kill me? Is that why he sought out my parents?”

“I have already said too much! Cease now before the news of his burgeoning return might be hasted to our realities!”

The Hammer was getting a headache trying to talk to this lady.

“You agree with the Chief, then. He didn’t die that night and there’s something going on.”

Trelawney began to wail, hands grasping at nothing above her, falling silent momentarily before speaking in a voice that wasn’t anything like the one she had been using,

“Too soon! Too soon! The pieces are in play but a burning flame cuts through the fog! Something is here, but not there, not with us but also against us! The thing which was made lost will be found and the things made hidden will be seen!”

The professor fell into a disorganised heap on the floor, dead silent.

“Y’know what, I think we should leave.” The Hammer said, bending down and opening up the trapdoor again.

“Is-is she alright?” Hermione hesitated, reaching a hand toward the unconscious teacher.

“I’m sure it’ll sort itself out. She’s a professional, right? They wouldn’t just leave her up here to teach if this sort of thing wasn’t already under consideration.” Harry really didn’t want to stay.

“Or this kind of thing never happens.” Neville commented.

The Hammer groaned, “Dangit Nev, now she’s going to bully me about being responsible about it.” he said before doing a short pirouette away from the door and stomping over toward Professor Trelawney. As he approached the professor sat up and looked around, coming into eye contact with Harry.

“Oh, hello. What are you doing here? Was I doing something here on the floor? I can’t seem to recall.” She said to him after glancing around her room for a bit.

“Oh, we had some questions, but I think they worked themselves out.” the Hammer said, offering a hand for her to steady herself as she got up off the floor.

“Oh, well, I’m glad I could be of some help. Were you first years trying to see what it would be like to learn the mysteries and depths of peering through the veil?” She adjusted her glasses.

“Would you look at the time? We should be off, professor. Thank you so much for the help.” The Hammer urged his friends over to the ladder and mounted it, sliding down to the bottom. His two companions joined him shortly after, climbing down rung by rung.

“Well that was strange.” Neville said as he dismounted.

“I don't’ know if I want to take Divination anymore.” A visibly disturbed Hermione spoke.

“If that was some real Delphi kind of thing, then there’s a lot to go through. But if her prophecies are as stale as the sherry’s she’s been helping herself to, then we’re barking up the wrong tree. If and this has to be the mother-of-all ifs, if she’s spot on then it confirms what I was talking about with the Chief.”

“D’you mean that You-Know-Who is still here?” Neville asked, paler than a moment before.

“Seems like that gunsel’s still around. Just living in a way that only sort of meets the definition.” Harry replied.

The mood between them had changed as they descended the stairs - their witnessing of the divination teacher’s wild transformation wasn’t a shift in what they already knew, but it raised more open ended questions about their reality none of them had the means to answer. At least there would still be class to distract them.

After dinner, Harry went up to his room after excusing himself to take an early night. He drew out the cloak of invisibility from his trunk, slipping underneath it and disappearing, finding that he could see through the material of the cloak when he was fully covered by it. He waited near the door until one of his roommates opened it up to come inside, slipping by him like a gentle breeze before the door could close.

“Hermione, have you seen Harry around?” Penelope Clearwater asked her on one of the couches in the common room.

“Oh, he told me that he was going to call it an early night. I suppose he’s tired.” She replied from behind a book she was reading.

“I hope so. You’d really be better off if you reigned in some of his… antics.”

“Believe me, I try. But there is an inexplicable sense and reasonableness to what happens with him.”

Penelope looked sceptical, “I don’t know how it does with that much danger and a complete disregard for policies and rules. We’re just trying to keep you safe, after all. If you all weren't doing so well academically, I think the staff would be coming down much harder.”

Someone came into the common room, but Harry didn’t make a move for the door.

“Well any danger I’m exposed to is one I volunteered to face.” Hermione said, turning a page in the book and continuing to read.

“There are still things that you’re too young to be volunteering for. The rules are there for a reason - this school and staff are responsible for you. You get that, right?”

“I feel like we’re talking about two different things, Penelope. With what the staff is keeping on that forbidden floor I think we’re playing for stakes a bit bigger than just our secondary school experience.”

“You should be leaving that stuff well enough alone, much less evaluating the stakes behind it, Hermione. Please, before you all manage to lose more points or get hurt.”

Harry moved toward the door and slipped out after another person came in. He had gotten tired of listening to the conversation - at least he knew where Hermione’s concerns laid. Out in the halls he picked a direction and began to wander, taking in the sounds and feelings of the castle at night, the subtleties that were hidden under the din and busyness of daytime becoming clear to him as he paced the floors heel to toe in near silent footsteps.

A set of marks on the floor - like a thing had been dragged - drew the Hammer’s curiosity and demanded his attention. The trail led him to a disused classroom, one which looked like it hadn’t seen visitors in a generation by how much dust there was on most everything in it. Beyond the upturned waste-paper bin and the desks and chairs stacked against the wall there was a gold framed mirror almost as tall as the ceiling, the carefully crafted filigree of the border broken only by an inscription on the top edge, “Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi” Harry scratched his head, “I show… not...your face, but your heart’s desire?” he said softly out loud as he deciphered the inscription backwards. It wasn’t a hard puzzle, but since it was probably magic he didn’t know what to expect.

The Hammer paced the standing frame, examining it for any other inscriptions that could be read as instructions. He took care not to look directly into the shiny glass side of the mirror as he did so. Finding nothing else, he shed his cloak so he could have a clearer look at the mysterious object, sliding himself slowly into full view of the reflective surface once he figured it was safe.

“My heart’s desire, huh?” He murmured to himself as he looked into the glass. The swirling fog in the mirror slowly became clearer- the vision settling into a black and white shot of a ceiling fan spinning slowly against the background. The eyeline of the shot panned downward to a newspaper framed on the wall for its headline, “Boy who lived cracks own murder case!” Before drawing back to reveal himself dressed in his coat and hat in a Private Eye office that was unmistakably one he returned to in his head to think. Was this what he truly desired? He could tell there was a knock on the frosted glass door in spite of the silence from the image. His mirror-self waved a hand, mouth opened to speak and the door opened, Hermione and Neville coming in with the materials for a case in hand. The text on the door was in three lines, “HARRY P.-MASON / THE HAMMER / PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR.” It was certainly a tempting vision, but it didn’t help him toward solving the case at hand.

Almost in response to his train of thought, the mirror-Hammer reached over to the top drawer of his desk and produced a red stone from it - the colour a jarring contrast to the black and white of the rest of the scene before him. His reflective self gave the stone a twirl in his hand and put it into his coat pocket, pointing directly at Harry before raising a single finger to his lips in a shushing motion and winking.

The Hammer felt a weight suddenly tug downward into his coat pocket, dragging his attention away from the illusion in the mirror and to what had just happened in real life. Putting a hand into his pocket, he pulled out the reddish fist-sized stone. This was it. Somehow he had gotten the Philosopher’s stone.

Harry looked around, dumbfounded. He expected people to be waiting in the periphery with party poppers and a big sign congratulating him on being Hogwarts’ biggest schmuck. He kept looking at the stone. Nothing happened. No one popped out of the darkness to wrest it from him. Taking another look around the room, he slipped the rock back into his pocket and put the cloak of invisibility back over himself. The bus station was where Bogart had kept the Falcon in the meanwhile - but so long as no one knew he had gotten his hands on it, the Hammer figured they’d never think to check a child’s luggage.

Slipping back out into the hall under the cover of his cloak, the Hammer’s heart was pounding, the blood rushing between his ears as a mixture of emotions struggled to assert themselves. He was elated. He was terrified. He was confused. Nothing made sense about it, but this wasn’t the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. Harry made his way back to Ravenclaw tower and revealed just enough of himself to get the eagle to pose a question. He answered it in a whisper and slipped inside.

He rolled the stone up inside a pair of socks and put it into the deepest part of his trunk he could find followed by his invisibility cloak. Afterward, he took a moment to sit down on his bed and do a check of his mental state. He had the Maltese Falcon and had absolutely no idea what to do with it.


	19. Chapter 19

“You should give it back.” Hermione told the Hammer at breakfast, the sharpness and concern in her voice attracting unwanted stares that they were forced to wave off before it started another round of fresh rumours.

“I’m not gonna give it back.” Harry said dismissively, waving his hand and trying to enjoy his drink.

“It’s the right thing to do, Harry. How do you expect to keep it safe? We’re not as powerful as any of the adults!”

“What are they going to do with it if we give it back? They wouldn’t know what to do with it aside from stick it in another magic mirror to reflect on their mistakes.”

“Doesn’t this mean the case is solved, Hammer?” Neville asked from the Hufflepuff table, “I mean we got the thing they’re after and you got all your answers.”

“I haven’t gotten all the answers I want yet, Nev. Not by a long shot. Heck, we still don’t have a clean culprit yet. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still in business.”

Neville turned back to his table, the other Hufflepuffs noticing the darkness in his expression. For most, it was a passing curiosity and for others it was a sign of the times. Between the clumsy, crestfallen boy who had showed up missing a toad at the Hogwarts Express and the newly brooding character that occupied the space between the twin lines of golden trim, there was a world of difference that the other Hufflepuffs could only attribute to his choice in friends.

***

A note that came in with the breakfast post deliveries informed the group of when their detention would be. It was a handwritten set of instructions by Professor McGonagall this time, telling them to report to the entry hall of the castle at sundown to Mr. Filch wherein he and Hagrid would be supervising their night’s task. Her handwriting didn’t look like the one that gave him the cloak on Christmas. Hermione seemed disappointed in herself for having received a punishment, but Harry was nonchalant about the whole affair. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had stepped over the line at a school, and by the Hammer’s reckoning it wasn’t going to be his last.

Passing by an empty classroom near the library, he paused at its cracked open door, coming to rest in a tiny sliver of light that came from within the room. Inside was a silhouette of Professor Quirrell, immediately recognisable by his purple turban, the quiet sounds of pleaded whimpers reaching the Hammer’s ears,

“Please, no. Not that… not again.” The man sounded close to breaking down into all out tears. Harry held a hand up to his mouth to muffle the sound of his breaths, continuing to watch Quirrell hold onto the edges of a desk and plead quietly with no one but himself. A few moments later he straightened up from the desk, “I-al-alright.” He moved like an inexpertly piloted marionette, jolting away from the desk suddenly and causing the Hammer to move away from his sliver of light and into a dark corner. A moment later the Professor had burst from the door and was striding away down the hall. The Hammer waited - he hadn’t been spotted, or Quirrell was so involved in his sad little pep talk to the point where he didn’t notice Harry standing in the hallway. Either way, it was good news.

Looking into the classroom, there weren’t any other signs of anyone else’s passage save for a door ajar at the other end of the room, but it was all circumstantial.

He met the other two in the entry hall, only to be joined by a sulking Malfoy. Apparently someone had been busy with bad decisions on his own time. Harry tipped his hat at the boy and smirked. Malfoy begrudgingly nodded his head but kept his distance from them. Filch was preceded by his feline harbinger - Mrs. Norris the red eyed cat, plodding up to them before setting down and meowing somehow condescendingly.

“Follow me.” The grizzled old man told them, lighting a lamp he had brought with him. Harry wondered why he didn’t use a wand lighting spell - it seemed cheap and easy.

The weather outside had warmed from the heart of winter, an early spring thaw returning everything to how the Hammer had remembered it before leaving on winter vacation, if only muddier. “I bet you’ll think twice about breaking school rules again, won’t you, eh?” He spoke as they crossed the yard, turning to leer at them, “Oh yes, hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me,” The Hammer’s smirk came back as he took a sidelong glance at Malfoy. The other boy avoided his gaze, “It’s a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I’ve got the chains still in my office, keep ‘em well oiled in case they’re ever needed…” Harry looked to Neville in disbelief - they shared a short, mouthed exchange about how what Filch had to say was completely abnormal, “Right, off we go, and don’t think of running off now, it’ll be worse for you if you do.” The old man looked to them, expecting fear in their faces. The Hammer wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

They marched across the dark grounds toward the direction of Hagrid’s home. Harry wondered what they were going to be made to do - Hagrid would surely be more reasonable than Filch, but until they got to him, the Hammer was going to have to hold his tongue or else he’d have to see how frail Filch was compared to how he looked.

“Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.” Hagrid’s voice reached them under the full moon’s light, interrupted by the movement of the clouds as they plunged alternatingly into darkness and light, leaving the glow of Hagrid’s hearth shining like a guide beacon in the night. It felt like half a lifetime ago that he had been having tea at Hagrid’s.

The old man leading them let out a little cackle, “Think just because it’ll be with him that you’ll be better off, do you? No, you’re going into the forest and I’ve got money on which one of you will come back by morning.” He said it with an unreasonable amount of glee.

The Hammer noticed Neville’s hand clench into a fist, but Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks before anyone could say anything.

“The Forest?” Malfoy repeated, he didn’t even try to sound pompous, “We can’t go in there at night - there’s all sorts of things in there - werewolves, I heard.” Now he was starting to sound ridiculous, but if Vampires were real, who was to say Lycanthropy wasn’t?

“That’s your lookout innit?” Filch said, his voice cracking with glee, “Should’ve thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn’t you?”

Hagrid came striding out of the dark with Fang following close in his wake. He was carrying the crossbow that the Hammer had seen propped up next to his threshold, a leather quiver of arrows across his back.

“Abou’ time,” He said, “I bin waitin’ fer half an hour already. Y’alright Hammer, Hermione? Who’re you lot?”

“Longbottom, sir, Neville Longbottom. I’m Hammer’s friend.”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“I’m no sir, but I appreciate it.” Hagrid replied, “Yer Hammer’s friend?” Neville nodded emphatically.

“I shouldn’t be too friendly with them, Hagrid,” Filch said looking down his nose at the children, “they’re here to be punished, after all.”

“That’s why yer late, is it?” Hagrid grumbled, frowning at Filch, “Bin lecturin’ them, eh? ‘Snot your place ter do that. Yeh’ve done yer bit, I’ll take over from here.”

Filch sucked one of his long canine teeth, “I’ll be back at dawn,” he turned to leave, looking over his shoulder, “for what’s left of them.” he said before he started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy turned to Hagrid.

“I’m not going in that Forest,” He said, a note of fear and panic in his voice. The Hammer spat at the ground.

“Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts.” Hagrid replied, “Yeh’ve done wrong an’ now yeh’ve got ter pay for it.”

“But this is servant stuff, it’s not for students to do. I thought we’d be writing lines or something. If my father knew I was doing this, he’d-”

“-tell yer that’s how it is at Hogwarts,” Hagrid growled, “Writin’ lines! What good’s that ter anyone? Yeh’ll do summat useful or yeh’ll get out. If yeh think yer father’d rather you were expelled, then git back off ter the castle an’ pack. Go on!”

Malfoy didn’t move. He looked at Hagrid with a fierce insolence but then turned and looked away at the ground speaking words softly to himself.  _ Posh git. _

“Right then,” Hagrid moved on, “now listen carefully, ‘cause it’s dangerous what we’re gonna do tonight an’ I don’ want no one takin’ risks. Follow me over here a moment.”

“If it’s so dangerous, do you have another one of those?” The Hammer pointed at Hagrid’s crossbow.

“No, Hammer. Professor McGonagall said yeh might ask for somethin’, but yeh’ve got yer wands, right?”

They stopped at the edge of the forest where the vegetation began to thicken, the copse of foreboding black trees allowing only a narrow, winding track of earth that disappeared behind their imposing vigil. A breeze flowed into the forest like a breath being drawn. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood up. There was something off about the forest at night.

“Look there,” Hagrid pointed at a puddle in the dirt, “see that stuff shinin’ on the ground? Silvery stuff? That’s unicorn blood. There’s a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We’re gonna try and find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.”

The Hammer lit his wand and knelt next to the puddle, the light revealing a substance like viscous quicksilver reflecting their surroundings in pale steel tones. The puddle looked like it had dripped downward off an animal about a horse’s height - the splatter was consistent with a wounded animal on the run in the Hammer’s mind.

“And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?” said Malfoy, unable to keep the quaver out of his question.

“There’s nothin’ that lives in the Forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,” Hagrid said.

“What if whatever is hunting them isn’t from the Forest?” Harry asked, putting two fingers into the puddle of blood and drawing it up to his nose to smell it, rubbing his fingers together to feel its texture. It smelled sweet, saccharine.

“Ain’t nothin’ in the forest that isn’t here because Dumbledore lets it be here. It’s part of school grounds and the ministry keeps an eye on things. Right, so keep to the paths. We’re going to split inter two parties an’ follow the trail in diff’rent directions. There’s blood all over the place, it must’ve bin staggerin’ around since last night at least. Longbottom, go with the Hammer. You two come with me.” Hagrid motioned to Hermione and Malfoy.

Neville walked over next to the Hammer and grasped onto his robe’s sleeve. Fang loped over to them, panting happily at seeing Harry again. “Got ter warn yeh, he’s a coward.” Hagrid said, confirming Harry’s suspicions, “Now if any of us finds the unicorn we’ll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands an’ practice now - that’s it - an if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an we’ll all come find yeh. No fire spells, Hammer. It’s a forest. So, be careful - let’s go.”

Hagrid motioned for them to follow him onto the path that led into the thick of trees, eventually reaching a fork in the road where he paused. “Could it actually be a werewolf in the forest killing these unicorns?” Hermione asked.

“‘Course not. Werewolves are too slow to catch a unicorn. ‘Sides, haven’t seen a werewolf in these woods since…” Hagrid paused to count his fingers a moment, “Eighty-five.” The children looked between each other, considering the fact that a werewolf wasn’t impossible. “Alright, get moving you lot.” Hagrid gave Fang a pat on the rump and sent the hound down the left hand path, “Remember, stay on the path!”

The Hammer and Neville followed in a quickstep behind Fang, eventually catching up to him when the dog was forced to begin climbing over roots overgrowing the narrow trail. Fang moved from pool to gleaming, quicksilver pool, sniffing quietly at each of them before moving on. The Hammer paused at each, taking the time to note that the blood didn’t seem to be muddled by the surrounding dirt - the unicorn’s lifeblood remained pure in itself even in the absence of the creature.

Near a large open meadow, Fang came to a halt, ears pricking up as the sound of flowing water came to them filtered through the trees. Fang bared his teeth but didn’t growl. “Who’s there?” Neville called out, his words echoing against the trees before dying quietly in the night.

The sound of hoofbeats drew their attention to the meadow, the Hammer taking a few tentative steps into the open. Someone riding a horse came into the clearing - no, the man was a part of the horse - it was a centaur. A swarthy man’s torso that ended in the ruddy body of a chestnut horse strode out to meet them.

“You are accompanied by Hagrid. This means you are students. What are your names?”

“Neville.”

“Harry.”

“I am Bane.” The centaur narrowed his eyes at Harry before looking up at the sky, “Mars is especially bright tonight, but the moon is surely waxing.”

“And the seagull crows at midnight,” the Hammer replied, “What are you getting at?”

“A Hammer soon strikes the heavens and scatters the stars. Are you that Hammer?”

Harry raised an eyebrow to the centaur, “And what if I am?”

“Then we shall see.” The man-horse trotted a small circle in place before coming to rest again.

“Listen, we’re looking for an injured unicorn out here. Something’s been hurting them and we’ve been following a trail all night. There’s blood but no body.”

“Mars gleams brightly this night.” Bane repeated.

A sense of unease overtook the Hammer, he looked around but saw nothing in the tree line. “Well… thanks for your help.” He told Bane and tapped Neville on the arm, moving back to where they had last seen a splash of blood. Fang gladly continued the search. The two boys occasionally glanced skyward but saw no signs of the red emergency sparks nor the green of success, so they continued to press onward deeper into the heart of the wood.

Following the intermittent splashes of unicorn blood led them onward into thicker and thicker vegetation - the splashes of blood getting newer and larger as they continued, an unfortunate sign of getting closer to their goal. A wheezing, wet sound preceded their entry into yet another opening in the deepest part of the wood, the Hammer holding an arm up to stop Neville as he tried to see what it was they were running into. Fang had stopped again and was whimpering quietly, hesitating to proceed to the next splatter of silver blood.

Through the trees, the Hammer could see the gleaming white body of a unicorn lying on the ground in a mirror-pool of its blood. It was a pathetic sight, the skinny legs of the horse creature splayed out at unnatural angles, the single horn on its head seemingly dimmer than it would have been in life. The two proceeded forward to the edge of the thicket, only to realize too late that the darkness above the unicorn’s corpse wasn’t a part of the background nor was it an unfortunately cast shadow.

The darkness that clung to reality above the unicorn billowed like ink in water, connected to their world only at the unicorn’s neck, the wheezing slurping noise explained by whatever-it-was suckling the blood from the once majestic creature. Harry held a hand up to his mouth, but Neville screamed a strangled yell of surprise.

Their noise got the creature’s attention, the sounds of its feeding stopped and the Hammer feeling its gaze upon him. Pain wracked Harry’s head, emanating from the scar as the creature gave an otherworldly shriek, piercing the night. The Hammer’s vision swam, causing him to fall to his knees, clutching at his scar. The creature swam through the air toward them at a frightening speed. Harry’s world began to fade and the last thing he remembered before passing out was the sound of Neville’s yelled spellcasting and the sound of galloping hooves.

Some time later the pain subsided, lifting off of him like a curtain on the next act of a play he hadn’t wanted to watch. He found Neville standing above him, wand held out in front of him with another centaur, the two of them staring at the emptiness above where the unicorn lay.

“Nev? What happened?” Harry asked as he righted himself groggily.

“I told myself never again, Hammer.” Neville responded, wand hand beginning to shake.

“What do you mean?” Harry rubbed his scar, finding the pain to be more or less normalized.

“If it ever comes down to it, I choose to fight. Never again with this, with professors, the troll, whatever. I want to stand.”

“Thanks, Nev.” The Hammer chose the same, steadying himself with Neville’s shoulder once he was up.

“I suppose I should thank you too.” Harry said to the centaur, this new one a younger looking specimen with white-blond hair and a palomino body. He reminded the Hammer of an older Malfoy’s top half glued to a horse.

“Are you alright?” The centaur asked, piercing pale blue eyes appraising the Hammer.

“I suppose I am.” Harry looked himself over again, “Oh thank you, Neville.” he received his hat back from his friend, brushing off the dirt.

“You are the one they call Potter.” The centaur’s eyes paused on his scar - taking in the red welt it was raised on.

“When I’m unlucky.” The Hammer replied.

“You and your companion must get back to Hagrid. These woods are not safe now, especially for you. Can you ride? I believe I can fit the both of you. He knelt down onto his two front legs, “My name is Firenze.”

Harry motioned for Neville to get on first, but his friend insisted that Harry should climb. Harry felt a little stunned but tried not to show it - he had woken back up into a world with a man-horse and a Neville who wasn’t taking any bull. Before he could fully climb on Firenze, there was the sound of a stampede, hoofbeats ending in two others centaurs bounding into the clearing - Bane and another the Hammer hadn’t met.

“What are you doing? Allowing a human to climb onto your back like a pack animal, have you no shame?” The Hammer swung his leg over and stepped back down to the ground.

“Do you realise who this is?” Firenze stood back up to face his compatriots, “The Hammer to scatter the stars! The sooner we can get him to leave, the better.”

“What have you told him?” Bane squared up to the younger centaur, “We are soulbound to the course of the heavens. You should know best of all what is to come in the flow of the stars.” The other centaur looked nervously between them,

“I’m sure Firenze was simply trying to do the best he could.” He moped, pawing the ground.

“The best, Ronan? THE BEST?” Bane reared back in anger, “What best does this have to do with us? We are bound to the movements of the firmament, not prancing about idly ferrying children!”

Firenze pawed angrily at the ground, digging a rut in the dirt at his feet. The Hammer could see the tension girdering itself in the muscles of the younger centaur.

“Only a fool would continue to stare skyward as death clouds around him. Look at that unicorn! Do you not see the reason why it was killed? Are the movements of those stars still a mystery to you? I have drawn my line and I stand against the creature in this forest, even if that means standing on the same side as humans!”  
“Y’know what, you all can keep talking centaur politics, but I’m going to go look at this.” The Hammer pulled out his wand and sent green sparks into the air before turning and speaking, “Lumos Tenebrosus.”

The blacklight glow made the unicorn blood light up pure white in the night like liquid moonlight. Around the body, the glow was so bright it looked like the body was being abducted by aliens. The Hammer approached the body, holding his other arm up to shield his eyes as he approached the scene. There was something else mixed in with the unicorn blood - the purplish blue glow spread out in a drip and spray pattern that looked to the Hammer like it was drool from a salivating mouth.

Harry grumbled and turned from the body, holding the wand out at the ground, trying to make heads or tails of the situation.

“What are you doing?” Bane asked him, a tone of voice the Hammer shrugged off as disbelief.

“Sometimes - just sometimes at the scene of the crime the suspect leaves more than they think they do.” The Hammer murmured a response as he looked for more of the strong purpleish glow. He found a dense cluster of slobber near where Firenze was standing, unmoved from where he had been when the Hammer awoke. The splatter seemed to have recoiled and then trailed in a mix of flecks of brightly glowing pinpoints of unicorn blood back in the direction of the castle. The Hammer ended the blacklight and lit his wand in a more conventional fashion, looking down to where he had seen the trail of liquids.

There were bootprints in a size large enough to be an adult, probably male. Their depth made it seem like he would be closer to an average human rather than someone Hagrid sized. Whatever the illusion was, the spectral darkness had been a good cover for someone trying to conceal their movements.

“Did you find something?” Neville asked as he neared the edge of the clearing. “Nothing good, Nev, nothing good…”

“Hammer! Neville! Are yeh alright? Saw them sparks an…” Hagrid came bursting into the clearing just in time to see Harry bent over the unicorn corpse again, dipping two fingers into the blood and holding it up in front of him.

“Scourgify!” The Hammer used the cleaning spell on the tip of his fingers to remove the blood, but a faint white glow remained under the light of Tenebrosus. The Hammer made a small noise of acceptance. Hermione and Malfoy came into the clearing a moment later.

“Hagrid, whatever it is that’s been killing these unicorns has been eating them too. And whatever that is, is probably in the castle.” The Hammer jerked a thumb toward the school.

“No-” Hagrid began. “It is as he says.” Firenze backed him up, “You would do well to leave.” Bane grumbled something in agreement, pawing the ground with a hoof.

“We can talk about it back at my place.” Hagrid offered, looking at the dead animal for himself briefly. He came over and put a hand on Harry’s back, urging him along. Firenze cantered along next to them, escorting the party back out of the Forest until they had reached the cheery lights of the hut.

“Now, Hammer, what happened out there?” Hagrid asked him as all the children huddled together just outside his home.

Harry told his story, leaving nothing out and describing how Neville had saved his life with the aid of Firenze from a creature that seemed to be equal parts darkness and malice.

“T’aint no good, Harry.” Hagrid commented, Hermione was twisting her robes to wrinkles processing the tale and Malfoy had become as pale as the moonlight.

“I don’t believe it, I’ll tell my father!” Malfoy said.

“And what’s he going to learn? That there’s ghosts here? That dark magic is real? That there are some places in the forest too dangerous for humans?” The centaur commented.

“But Hagrid’s right, Harry. Who would want to hurt a unicorn?” Hermione asked.

“Unicorns are peaceful, innocent creatures, but powerful in their own magic. Only someone dark and desperate would drink the blood of a unicorn. It will keep you alive even if you are an inch from death, but the price is equal to that of the crime. You will surely live, but the life it grants will be accursed from the moment the blood touches your lips.” Firenze told them, his words solemn.

They all looked between each other, unsure of how to continue.

“What kind of person would be willing to do that?” Neville asked.

“Hammer of the heavens, would you know someone who would be that desperate? Someone caught between life and death, willing to sacrifice everything for another chance?”

The lights turned on in Harry’s eyes as he came to the conclusion, Hermione and Neville reaching the same one shortly thereafter.

“Of course! That gunsel’s been drinking unicorn juice till he can get his mitts on…” the Hammer paused, looking at the stunned Malfoy who was still trying to process the disjointed conversation.

“Hands on what?” The silver haired boy asked.

“None of your business.” the Hammer said, narrowing his eyes. Hagrid looked like someone had set his beard and pants on fire at the same time and he couldn’t prioritize which blaze to put out first.

“Uh... Congratulations, detention’s over! Git back to the castle’n go to bed!” Hagrid shooed them. Firenze took a step closer toward Malfoy, making the boy stumble backward over himself to get away from them.

“Hagrid, we know that giant dog is yours.” Neville said, standing his ground next to the Hammer and Hermione. Hagird made some flustered noises. 

“‘Course he is, Fluffy’s a right terror sometimes but ‘es a good dog. ‘Sides he calms right down soon as he hears some music.”

The children looked at him in disbelief - it was people like this that were in charge of guarding the stone.

“So what else is after Fluffy?” The Hammer asked, “there’s a trapdoor that leads down underneath him to another part of the castle but there have to be more traps.”

“Ain’t nothing down there, Hammer. Not that I know anyway. All the professors helped build the traps. T’aint none of yer business either way.”

“I think it is, Hagrid. I think it is. There’s something in the castle that’s willing to kill children and unicorns and somehow everyone is too blind or too complacent to see it. We’re gonna be at a tipping point soon and if no one does anything about it, someone’s liable to die.” the Hammer argued.

“Git ter bed Harry, it’s late.” Hagrid dismissed him in a truly adult fashion. The Hammer sighed - he wasn’t going to get anything more out of him when his defenses were turned up like this. However, the important clue wasn’t that there would be more traps behind the trapdoor, but the fact that all the teachers had helped in constructing the traps. It meant that everyone was in on it, and unless it had been properly managed, all the teachers would have a fair idea of what was awaiting them on the way to the stone. The Hammer turned toward Firenze,

“This is where I leave you, Hammer of the heavens. What may come next may be foretold but it would not be the first time it has been read wrongly.” The centaur bid him farewell with the cryptic message before cantering away back into the Forest.

The Hammer smiled smugly on his way back to the castle - at least no one knew that he had already taken it. That would’ve only put the stone in even greater danger leaving it with the teachers. The three paused before they needed to separate and head in the directions of their common rooms. “Hammer, I’m with you on this - til the end.” Neville spoke up before Harry even had a chance to say anything. Hermione nodded, agreeing with him, reaffirming what hadn’t needed to be said. They finally had the upper hand and he would need the both of them when the phantom from the forest finally revealed its true identity. Come what may they would figure out a way of stopping whoever it was, once and for all. 


	20. Chapter 20

It was good not being stuck reacting. The Hammer liked being in control - being on the hunt. He thought back to the Tyger, back to being the one who was on the prowl. It was  _ his  _ hand that dared seize the fire. Harry dialed back his approach: keeping his head down in school and class so as to not arouse suspicion. For good measure, he had begun in the common rooms - looking over his own with Lumos Tenebrosus to see if there were any signs of the moonlight glow of unicorn blood. Unsurprisingly, the tower was clean, and from Neville’s report the Hufflepuff basement was also free and clear.

Harry had to settle for examining the stairs and hallway leading to the Gryffindor common room. There were plenty of questionable fluids but nothing that resembled the distinct glow of the magic blood or the spittle that was at the scene of the crime. The dungeons were where the trouble was. Given the proximity of the Slytherin commons to the potions class, the Hammer needed to be sure he wasn’t under observation when he began. Returning to the potions’ hallway after dinner, the place seemed deserted.

“So what happens if we find something?” Neville asked, peering down one side of the hallway as a lookout.

“We’ll go to the headmaster, of course. He’ll have to listen to us if we have evidence.” Hermione said with an air of confidence.

“Yeah, right.” Harry murmured as he lit his wand, the blacklight highlighting streaks on the stones in the hallway - their colour was inconclusive. Opening up the door to the potions class felt like a mistake. The glow of his wand lit up the room in a cacophony of colour - the potion reagents glowing the gamut of colours, but all of them different from what he was looking for. The surfaces of the tables were a mess of liquid remains even in spite of the magical cleansing the room was subjected to on a regular basis.

“Did you find anything?” Neville called back to him.

“Nope, give me some time!” The Hammer replied, trying to sort through the different kinds of light he was finding on the ground - by their patterns alone he couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. He decided to abandon the search in the student areas and began to look in the area where Snape’s desk was, starting in the corner and following the way out toward the shelves of more dangerous ingredients that were kept nearer the back and used by older students. The different glowing hues elicited under the shifted Lumos was a varied mix that seemed to break the rules of normal exposure, but the Hammer figured it was a property of magic.

Coming up to the door to the storeroom in the back, the Hammer still hadn’t found anything that resembled the white glow of unicorn blood or the dark aubergine of tainted spittle. He stopped, looking around with the wand held out in front of him, struggling to find anything relevant. Harry still didn’t quite want to believe it - it would have been clean and easy to blame Snape. He had motive and he had means and the kind of adult cutthroat ruthlessness that would have made killing a unicorn something that wouldn’t have bothered him.

While the Hammer was lost in thought, jumping through his own mental hoops, the door of the storeroom in front of him swung open to reveal a black clad professor with a familiar scowl on his face.

“Having a party, Mason?” Snape spoke with a familiar deadpan. It wasn’t lost on Harry that he had changed which name he called him by. The light of Tenebrosus won out against the weak incandescent bulb inside the storeroom, highlighting Snape up his entire front side. There were splotches and stains from the reagents spilt on his robes that illuminated under the light, but yet again still nothing. The whites of the professor’s eyes radiated with a piercing intensity under blacklight, his already dark pupils now like the void between stars. The Hammer muttered the counter charm and put his wand away.

“Guess not.” Harry said, meeting Snape’s stare, “Looks like you’re not the one I was looking for.”

“Pray tell who or what it was you were looking for in my classroom with your little charm?” He turned the last word into a sneer.

“Clues to a murder. But at this point just the wind, apparently.” The Hammer turned to leave. If Snape was surprised by his admission, his expression didn’t show it.

“If it wasn’t your method to acquire your things through means other than theft, I would be giving you detention for petty thievery, Mason. Longbaugh wouldn’t be able to save you this time.” Snape said to him as the Hammer crossed the room.

“I’m glad your opinion of me is so lofty.” Harry replied, closing the door behind him before exhaling in relief. The other two turned around at the noise, running up to him to ask what had happened.

“Well, Snape was in the storeroom,” They gasped. “But I don’t think he’s our man.”

“But you were so sure about him - the way you talked about it, he made so much sense.” Neville scratched his head.

“I guess we’d owe him an apology if he wasn’t going to murder us for bothering him during his time off.”

They returned to their rooms with a growing sense of unease - the feeling that there was something different, something actively changing beneath their noses was apparent now. The Hammer laid in his bed, hovering a ball above him as he let his mind wander in thought. If Snape wasn’t involved with the unicorn poaching, it didn’t lend to the fact that he would be involved in the heist for the Cintamani stone. But it didn’t necessarily exclude him - after all the games the adults played always involved betrayal and cat’s paws to work for you. Then there was Professor Quirrell.

From what the Hammer had seen so far from the five or so months he had been exposed to him full time, Quirrell was a mess of a man. Whatever had happened to him in that forest in Albania had left deep marks that he’d be paying for until the end. The Hammer started to wonder about vampires, but the ball began to waver - vampires weren’t the point, really. Trying to figure out Quirrell’s motivations for his actions was the main idea. The man put up a meek front and faked a stutter, but aside from talking to himself in deserted rooms there wasn’t anything to pin to him specifically aside from being involuntarily associated with Snape.

That aside, it was still a mystery  _ why _ Quirrell would want to make a move for the stone. Was he acting for personal gain or under orders? Was he associated with Voldemort? How was he associated with Voldemort or the remnants of his power? It was true that his general instability would be a possible explanation to his motivation, but what about it would connect him to open practitioners of dark magic? For that matter, what were the rules that separated all the other magic from dark magic? Their classes had gone over naturally hostile magic and magical creatures but still hadn’t drawn the line between acceptably harmful magic and unforgivably malicious ones.

The Hammer lowered the ball back to himself and tossed it back into the open mouth of his trunk, hearing it echo like it was falling down a well. Now wasn’t the time to ponder the ethics of magic. He sat up in his bed and put his wand and glasses on the nightstand. He’d have to go see the Chief about it. Even if the evidence was entirely circumstantial, he had promised that he’d turn in whoever it was he had pointed out as the suspect.

The Hammer grumbled to himself. He had promised Hermione he would, but he still didn’t like it. He didn’t have to like it, as far as he was concerned, but a man was only as good as his word. His father had told him about the steps that normally came after this - once the people in the right places knew, uniformed constables would help in the arrest and then the prosecution would begin and the suspect would get their chance before a Crown Court and the punishment would be decided there. Did wizards have something equivalent to that? Their single maximum security prison in the middle of the North Sea seemed to imply they did, but for how backwards Wizard society seemed to be, he doubted there would be a way to plead and argue a case with a barrister or solicitor. After all, why not just take a peek into people’s minds to determine the truth?

“Hammer, just go to bed, wouldya?” Anthony Goldstein said to him groggily from the next bed over. Harry mumbled an apology and rolled over.

****

“We’ll tell him together.” Harry said sometime during breakfast the next day.

“I hope this doesn’t wreck our scheduling. We’ve got those midterm exams coming up and I’m still not sure how well I’m doing.” Neville commented.

“I’m sure if this leads to something, the Chief’s little group is going to owe us enough extra credit to pass us through second year.” Harry assured him. Hermione looked sufficiently smug about the whole idea. Harry didn’t know what enticed her more: reporting something to the authorities or the idea of extra credit.

“Do you know this week’s password?” He asked her, causing the smug expression to exchange itself with one of confusion.

“No, I don’t. Who do you suppose we should ask?”

“My money’s on McGonagall. She is the deputy headmistress.”

The Hammer spent the day tapping his foot in class, excited at the prospects of catching the culprit. It’d also be a weight lifted off of his shoulders when he could return the stone to them. Harry didn’t have any particular use for turning lead into gold or even for an elixir of immortality. Seeing what the wanton use of potions had done to Petunia made him shy away from the whole concept. A part of him wondered what his life would have been like if she had married that Dursley knob she talked about sometimes.

After changing into their casual clothes when their classes were over, the three of them met up in the hallway outside of the Transfigurations wing down the hall from the Gryffindor part of the castle and the Headmaster’s office, confident in their next steps. Knocking on her door, they entered Professor McGonagall’s office, finding her at her desk. The Deputy Headmistress’s realm stood in contrast to Dumbledore’s: where his was a chaotic compilation of doodads and gizmos that seemed to serve little to no purpose, hers felt spacious and wide because of the graceful organisation of her mementos and practical items. The word sparse came to Harry’s mind, but in reality aside from Professor Longbaugh she seemed like the most normal Professor in the school.

“Mr. Mason, Ms. Granger and Mr. Longbottom. I hope you all have been staying out of trouble.” She removed a set of half moon reading spectacles from her nose, setting them down on the desk.

“Evening Professor,” Harry tipped his hat to her, glad that everyone had basically given up trying to do anything about his headwear, “How are you?” The others greeted the professor as well, all of them stopping a pace short of her desk.

“What can I do for you three?” She asked.

“Well, we were wondering if we could go see the Chief.”

“Headmaster Dumbledore, that is.” Neville added, trying to be helpful.

McGonagall posted her quill into its stand, “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“What do you mean, impossible? Did he fall into another dimension?”

“I mean that he’s no longer at the school. He received an emergency summons to the Ministry of Magic earlier this afternoon so he’s in London as we speak.” She replied in a measured tone of voice, “However, whatever you need to say to him can be said to me.”

The Hammer put a hand on his mouth and dragged downward - this wasn’t something he would have foreseen. Looking between the other two he made the decision, “It has to be the Chief, Professor. I can’t be sure if anyone else will act correctly with what I have to say.”

“I can assure you that I will act with the highest order of integrity with whatever information you have.” The Professor reassured them.

“Well it’s about the Cint- Philosopher’s stone you’ve got up in that corridor.”

The expression on McGonagall’s face started as surprised and rolled into something that was in the ballpark of scepticism.

“I don’t know how you found out about it, but I can assure you that it is very well protected.”

“See? This is why. You don't believe me and you won’t believe that someone’s going to steal it.”

“Professor, please, we’ve been watching this for months. We have it on good evidence that another Professor is going to steal it.” Hermione cut in, begging to be taken seriously.

“I can assure you that our teaching staff has been thoroughly reviewed. I have the utmost faith that none of the professors would be responsible for something so unsavoury.”

The Hammer sighed, putting his hands into his coat pockets and stormed out in a huff, his two friends coming out into the hall behind him.

“Harr-” Hermione began.

“You two really would’ve been perfect for each other. All those rules and trust in people.” He looked at the floor.

“We’ll get the evidence, then.” She replied.

“I think we should move fast.” Neville tugged on the Hammer’s sleeve, pulling him out of his sulk.

Harry smirked, “Right then. Let’s go.”

Following up on his final theory, they made it to the DADA classroom and all produced their wands. Peering inside and finding the room empty, they stepped in boldly and lit up the room with Lumos Tenebrosus. Harry made a beeline for the lectern and followed his hunch to the teacher’s desk. The main area lit up white hot, but not where he had expected it. There were traces of unicorn blood behind where a normal person would sit or stand, splatters of spittle accompanying the presence of the sanguine evidence.

He knelt down to follow the trail, seeing it go from the desk and up the aisle. Harry spoke a word that earned him a rebuke from Hermione as he followed the trail to the door.

“I think we’re already too late.” He said as his friends joined him, “Let’s see where this leads.”

The three used their lit wands to follow the pinpricks of artificial moonlight along the halls - some of it was smudged and faded, but in the end by the time they reached the central stairwell and saw it ascending, it was already obvious where it - where Quirrell - was headed.

“We should go back and show Professor McGonagall. She’ll believe us this time.”

“What makes you think this is going to be any different, doll? What kind of sense does following a forensic trail make for most wizards? We either do this ourselves or nothing gets done and this son of a bitch gets off scott free.” He looked at her with hard eyes, extinguishing his wand.


	21. Chapter 21

Neville turned his head and listened for something, turning back to the two and speaking in a hurried whisper, “Whatever we’re doing, we should do it now. I think I heard someone down the hall. We’ll get nicked for curfew at this rate.” His eyes had that old watery look of a troubled, clumsy child at the mention of breaking the rules again.

The Hammer made an executive decision and started walking toward the third floor corridor, whatever was coming be damned. He was out to get the man so he could figure out the reason behind his actions. Neville followed immediately in his wake, leaving Hermione to take one last look back towards what seemed like an obvious solution to her before chasing after the two.

The evidence hadn’t lied - they found the door to the third floor corridor ajar and Fluffy fast asleep in the room. An enchanted harp sat in the corner next to the door still playing a rendition of Bach’s Air on G String. Noting the trapdoor had closed behind the intruder, the Hammer pointed to Neville and Hermione to get their attention, pointing to the dog’s front paw after to draw their gaze to the fact that it was being held shut.

Harry moved over to the far side of the paw and motioned for his friends to help him move it, sliding the gigantic furry mass aside and opening up the trap door. Below them, the darkness of an uncharted void gaped at them as the open maw of an abyss. Looking up between them, they shared a moment of hesitation. In the corner, the Hammer noticed the harp had gone quiet and the only sound in the room was that of Fluffy’s deep, slow breathing becoming shallower by the second.

The Hammer reached out and grabbed Hermione by the collar first, dragging her into the hole before using his other hand to push Neville in after her. Both screamed as he threw them, but within a heartbeat he had jumped in after them. There was no point to solving the mystery if they were going to be mauled by a dog before they could solve the crime. Up above a trio of barks chased him down into the darkness.

He fell for long enough to take notice of the cold, damp air rushing by him - and for a moment the Hammer wondered if this was another place in the castle or if it was an enchanted, magical space that had been created to exist between the darkness of the stones. A moment later his fall was broken by something soft and springy. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Harry’s vision came down to Hermione standing with her back against a far wall, eyes wide and staring at the two of them on their padded landing.

“Harry! Neville! Get out of there!” She yelled at them, but they were already caught. The Hammer’s arm was pinned to the nest of vines while reaching for his hat, another set of vines wrapping around his chest.

“It’s Devil’s Snare, Hammer!” Neville called to him from a similar position, vines wrapped over most of his body.

“Hermione, a little help?” The Hammer yelled at her. She murmured a little ditty about the plant that Professor Sprout had taught them.

“It hates-” Neville groaned in pain, “Light and heat” He struggled in the writhing mass of vines encircling him.

“Make it quick with that fire!” Harry said as he disappeared under the grip of vines. Hermione produced her wand and spoke a conjuration for bluebell flames, the glowing orbs coming to rest over where she had seen her friends buried. A few breaths later they had reemerged from inside the plant as it cringed away from the light and heat. The Hammer scrabbled over to the stone platform Hermione was standing on and put on his hat, Neville joining them a moment later.

“I guess that’s Professor Sprout’s part of the traps. Leave it to her to use this stuff.” Harry commented.

“I’m just glad she didn’t pick something carnivorous.” Neville added with a grimace.

They followed the stairs down against the wall, continuing into the damp darkness of a torchlit corridor that proved to be the only way forward. The passage sloped downward, the chill in the air growing colder as they began to see their breaths condense into small clouds as they made progress. Eventually the floor leveled out and the light of an upcoming chamber called out to them like a beacon in the night.

The Hammer held up his hand and they stopped, frozen as he strained to hear what was down the hall. There was an odd buzzing that droned as a baseline, interspersed in it a metallic clinking like small bits of metal running into stone or metal ringing on metal.

“What do you think it is?” Hermione whispered.

“With all this magic? Y’got me, toots.” She poked him in the back of the neck with the tip of her wand. He cringed and shrugged, giving her a look before continuing on.

The chamber at the end seemed to be as large as a cathedral, high vaulted ceilings lit by glowing magical orbs of light and filled with birds or insects that shimmered in their glow. Other than the door at the far end, the room was unadorned.

“D’you suppose they’ll attack us?” Neville asked.

“Guess we’ll see.” Harry replied, taking a few tentative steps into the room. If anything it seemed like the flying creatures shied away from him, giving him a wide berth. They walked to the door on the other side and began examining it - it was a standard skeleton key door, but seemingly with a twist. Hermione tried out the Alohamora spell on it to no effect and the Hammer patted himself down, cursing the fact that he hadn’t packed his toolset with him.

“What now?” Hermione asked while the Hammer continued examining the door, trying to see if it would be easier to try and blow it off its hinges. Neville tugged on his sleeve.

“What is it, Nev?”

“Look at that, Hammer. They’re all keys.” He pointed up at the flying, glimmering creatures. On a second look, Neville was right - they weren’t birds or insects, but instead enchanted keys with glistening rainbow wings like large dragonflies.

“Huh. So they are. There’s probably one that matches the door here.” He looked at the fittings, taking a guess that it would be the same burnished silver colour, “Probably matches this.” He gestured with his thumb.

“There’s a few broomsticks over here,” Hermione called their attention, picking up three of the best looking ones from the small pile.

“So we’re meant to fly up and grab the right one?” Neville asked, “like Quidditch then.”

The Hammer called out his wrist rocket from his pouch, “I’m not a big fan of Quidditch.” He said as he took aim with a pebble from the floor. He spotted a glimmer of one with a broken wing hobbling in slow circles near the middle of the flock, loosing the stone at it but striking one that zipped into his line of fire. The errant key tumbled out of the air and landed with a clatter, its iridescent wings flapping once before going still. It looked more like the key of a Cadillac Deville.

“I feel a little bad about that.” The Hammer said, reaching down and grabbing another pebble from the edge of the room. He fired again and this time the stone found its mark, hitting the cripple-winged key and seeing it fall to the ground underneath the swarming flock. Neville ran over and grabbed it, bringing it back over to Harry.

“Looks about right. Hermione, grab us some brooms, would you? Never know when we’ll need to fly.” He said, taking the key from Neville and opening the door.

The next room remained so dark that they couldn’t see anything until the door closed behind them. Once they took a step forward, the chamber lit up, light flooding the room to reveal a gigantic life-sized chess board. The floor between one side to the other was decked out as a regulation chess board, adult-sized pieces setup for a game between them and the exit.

“I suppose we’re supposed to play and win a game of chess.” Hermione said, looking at the empty squares on the board on their side of the pieces.

“We don’t have time for this.” Harry said, mounting the broom in his hand and flying up and over the chessmen. The pieces didn’t take kindly to his avoidance, the enemy colours reaching up to try and swipe him out of the sky as he passed over their heads. Neville and Hermione followed his example, dodging the swipes of the pieces on the board as the graven faces glowered at their cheating.

Opening up the door to the exit, the trio was slammed with the foetid odour of rot. Eyes watering and holding their shirts up over their noses, they went inside to find a troll even larger than the one they had fought. It was stone dead on the floor in a dark pool of its own blood.

“Once a troll wrangler, always a troll wrangler.” The Hammer spoke lightly, stepping around it to open the door on the far side. As soon as the three of them had stepped over the threshold into the next room a curtain of violet flame barred their exit and a curtain of black flames came up to bar the door leading onward. The only other thing in the room was a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing in line. Harry grumbled at their new predicament.

Going over to the table, Hermione picked up a small rolled scroll and read it aloud to herself, pointing at the bottles on the table as she went along.

“It’s a logic puzzle. One of the potions gets you through the black fire, one through the purple stuff, two of them are wine and three of them are poison. Leave it to Snape to go last. Figures that this would be the last one since most wizards couldn’t deduce their way out of a paper bag .” She summarized.

“How are we supposed to know?” Neville asked, panic rising in his voice.

“I already figured it out,” Hermione reassured him, “The little one there lets us move forward, that one,” She pointed at the round bottle at the end, “lets us go back.”

Harry picked up the small bottle and swirled it up near the light, “Sure isn’t very much in here. Think we can ration this for all three of us?”

Hermione took it from him and looked at it for herself, “I think so, but what are we going to do when we confront Quirrell?”

“I want you two to hide. I’ll be bait. He’s going to be most interested in me. He probably won’t even expect the two of you to even exist.”

“But, Harry! That’s the most dangerous-”

“ _ Hermione _ , that’s why you’re hiding. If something happens come and rescue me.” Harry gave her a wry smile, “You on board, Nev?”

“You can count on me, Hammer.”

Harry dragged out his invisibility cloak from his pouch - getting it out took a lot more effort than getting it in. When he summoned it, a corner had come to his hand and he felt a little bit like a stage magician pulling out a series of linked handkerchiefs from his sleeve.

They shared the tiny bottle of what remained of the potion - barely enough liquid to coat their tongues. The Hammer shuddered as the feeling of ice flowed through his veins and he reached his hand through the fire and opened their final door. Stepping through, he found himself unharmed, the two stepping through after him before throwing the cloak over themselves and following as quietly as they could in his wake.

The next chamber took after an Egyptian revival set piece, the room itself made of what looked like sandstone etched with hieroglyphs that served only to house the single man-sized mirror in the depression at the center of the room. As they had expected, Quirrell was there, staring into the grungy reflective surface. Harry didn’t bother saying anything to get his attention, instead pulling out his wrist rocket and aiming a bronze knut at the back of Quirrell’s head. He loosed the spare change at deadly speed as he strode forward into the room.

The Knut came to a halt a foot behind Quirrell’s head, hanging in mid air, stopped by an unseen force. It clattered to the floor a moment later.

“I had been wondering if I would meet you here, Potter.” Quirrell spoke up, making eye contact with Harry using the cloudy surface of the mirror.

“Sorry I’m late.” The Hammer addressed him, “Glad to know I was right about your stupid stutter being a put on.”

Quirrell turned to him, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the little detective, “So you’ve seen right through me. I’ll kill you this night in my own due time.”  
“Good luck, but you overplayed your hand, Quirrell. Letting that troll in as a distraction on Halloween. You brought too much heat on yourself, thinking you could pass out in the middle of the Great Hall with the mud from down here still on your boots. Running out into the woods and drinking unicorn blood really put the spotlight on you. But I’ve got a question for you if you care to answer: are you tied to Voldemort or are you in this for yourself? How’d you even get involved with him?”

Quirrell gave him a withering look when he used the Dark Lord’s name, but the Hammer ignored it.

“I serve him, yes. He is my master and with me always.”

“Well that answers one thing, but still doesn’t answer if you’re just crazy. That or if you and Snape are in this together.”

A dry, derisive laughter began echoing from behind Quirrell. A voice spoke, muffled from somewhere behind him, “Let me see this boy, Quirinus, he may prove useful in finding the stone.”

“But master, you aren’t strong enough yet!” Quirrell replied to the voice, his eyes looking up over his shoulder without turning his head.

“I have enough strength… for this…” Quirrell went limp standing up, that marionette look coming back as he unwrapped his purple turban, letting the cloth fall to the ground unceremoniously. He was bald underneath, his head looking oddly small without the covering. He turned around slowly, revealing a face on the back of his head. The Hammer squinted at it, a look of disgust creeping onto his own face. The stowaway on the back of Quirrell’s head looked barely human, pallid white mismatched with the tone of the Professor’s skin with eyes the colour of fresh blood open in vertical slits that matched the two slits inset in the center of his face that passed for a nose - the whole arrangement reminded the Hammer of a snake. Harry felt a headache coming on - but it was nice to know that it wasn’t the smell of garlic that caused it.

“Harry Potter…” it whispered, the Hammer didn’t bother correcting him, “See what I have become? A roving spirit. Illusion and shadow. I can only take form when I share another’s body, but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds… the promise of power is great. Unicorn blood has given me strength, but with the Elixir of Life I will be able to create a body of my own. Take him, Quirinus, have him solve the final puzzle.”

The Hammer looked over his shoulder and winked with the eye further away from the man within a man, feigning like he was looking for an escape.

“You cannot escape this, Potter.” Quirrell said. The real Quirrell, not the snake-faced hitchhiker. Along the border of the room, a gout of flame sprang up from the floor, expanding into a blazing barricade. The Hammer tried to keep his poker face going despite his worry that his invisible friends might have been caught on the wrong side of it. “Come here and help us retrieve the stone from the mirror.” Quirrell wrapped his hand around Harry’s upper arm with surprising strength, dragging him in front of the mirror’s reflective side. Harry was unsurprised to see that it was the one he had found in the spare room that claimed to show his desires.

“What do you see, boy?” Quirrell hissed at him.

Harry watched the magical clouding clear into the familiar scene in his P.I. Office.

“I see myself in an office, sitting at the desk waiting for a fickle dame by the name of destiny to call.” The Hammer hammed it up, trying to buy time. Quirrell said a word that Hermione would have smacked Harry for.

“Get out of my way.” the bald man pushed him aside. From inside the mirror his idealized self waved frantically before reaching into the desk drawer and pulling out something golden. Mirror-Hammer gave it a quick wave in Harry’s direction before slipping it into his coat’s inner breast pocket. The Hammer raised an eyebrow at it when he felt the warm, dense thing slip into his own pocket, but took it in stride. Harry took a few tentative steps backward toward the exit door, stopping on the steps shy of the wall of flames, looking over his shoulder and grimacing at the prospects.

“He lies! He lies!” The freeloading face of Voldemort yelled at Harry, who stood stock still with his hands in his pockets.

“Stop lying, child. I can see right through you. Save your own life and join me… or you’ll meet the same end as your parents. They died begging me for mercy.”

The Hammer spat at the ground between them. Quirrell was walking backwards at him, so that Voldemort could still see him, an evil smile on his pale snake face. The Hammer took a step to the right, putting himself in front of the reflective surface of the mirror again.

“How touching,” The face hissed. “I always value bravery… Yes boy, your parents were brave… I killed your father first and he put up a courageous fight… but your mother needn’t have died… she was trying to protect you… Now give me the stone, unless you want her to have died in vain.” 

Harry flashed back to dream-Lily, tears falling and telling him goodbye. His expression hardened.

“Fine. I’ll give it to you.” Harry said, reaching a hand into his coat, feeling the familiar lump his other self had given him. Behind Quirrell, he couldn’t see himself in the mirror. There was something intangible between Quirrell and the mirror.

The bald man turned around and raised his hand toward Harry.  
“Give it here!” He said with a mad light in his eyes.

“Sure!” Harry said with an exaggerated nod, not looking at him but at the emptiness behind the man. In the same instant, the emptiness fell away to reveal his friends with a cry in unison of “Stupefy!” and “Petrificus Totalus!”

The magic ricocheted off an invisible wall inches behind Quirrell, glancing off as Voldemort screamed. Harry took the moment to interlace his fingers into the fist sized object, pulling it from his pocket and driving it directly into Quirrell’s groin with the conviction that he was dead set on making an omelette. “It was never here, idiot.” He spat.

No one expects to be hit in the bollocks by an ill tempered 11 year old. Quirrell doubled over in pain, throwing up his latest meal from the Great Hall onto the sandstone floor whilst Voldemort sprayed out the blackened remains of unicorn blood. So they were connected.

Harry didn’t let up, pushing Quirrell over onto his back and straddling him as his friends yelled in warning. His next blows came down on the Professor’s face - the brass knuckles in his right hand impacting with a sickening crunch on his nose but when Harry’s unadorned left hand came down into contact with his face, his knuckles went straight through. Harry recoiled in horror, feeling woozy and pulling his fist back as Quirrell’s body began to dissolve into blackened ash. Scrambling backwards, Harry’s left hand landed on Quirrell’s right, smushing down into it as his skin flaked away in sudden decay, sapping Harry of yet more strength. The Hammer rolled off of Quirrell’s body as his vision began to fade. The last thing he could remember before blacking out was his friends yelling his name, a pile of soot in purple clothing where Professor Quirrell used to be, and a dark shade screaming away into the night.


	22. Chapter 22

The Hammer awoke with a start, his head spinning round to try and figure out where he was - his blurry vision taking in the silhouette of a bearded man smiling at him.

“Did I get him, Chief?” The Hammer asked, calming down as he grabbed for his glasses on the table next to his bed. He was back in the infirmary. If this kept being a habit he would have to buy Madam Pomfrey flowers at some point.

“Good afternoon, Harry.” The old man greeted him.

“That no good rat Quirrell, tell me someone got him!”

“Harry, please relax or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.” The old man reached for a small yellow candy from an enormous pile at the foot of his bed - it looked like they had dumped half the sweets shop on the table.

“Tokens from your friends and admirers,” Dumbledore said, beaming. “What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic and confiscated it.” Those two actually did it. The Hammer smirked at the idea before asking, “How long have I been out, Chief?”

“Three days. I’m sure Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round. They have been most worried.”

“Ah. And Chief, I have to tell you - about the stone - “

“I see you are of a singular mind, as usual. Yes, I retrieved it from amongst your things, rolled up in a pair of rather comfortable looking socks. I arrived back in time to prevent Professor Quirrell from trying anything in his final moments, although you were doing very well on your own.”

“You knew I had the stone the whole time? Did you -“

“Of course, it was I who replaced it with the handy tool you used to dispatch the late Professor, though my return was only barely on time. You jumped in head first without looking again - the effort nearly killed you. For a moment, I was afraid it had. As for the stone, we’ve taken the liberty of destroying it.”

“We? Is that what Nick Flamel wanted?’

“Indubitably. We had a chat and decided it would be for the best in these trying times.”

“So he and his old lady are choosing to exit, stage left?”

“They have enough elixir stored to set their affairs in order, but then yes, they will die.”

The Hammer’s expression darkened, looking away at the floor.

“For Nicolas and Perenelle death isn’t a sad event, Harry. They’ve chosen it for the greater good and go gladly to their next great adventure. This is simply the closing of a very long running circle. As you know, they’ve been blessed with the two very things most people wish for: wealth and a long life. It is an odd quirk of human nature to lose interest in life after being given everything they would ever want.”

Harry grumbled, “So what’s the plan for Voldemort? Did this kill him?”

“He’s still out there, Harry. I’m afraid the task is not yet done. He isn’t truly alive so he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; evidence for how much mercy he shows his followers as well as his enemies. Even so, despite this being merely a delay on his return to power, it will only take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time - all one needs to do is delay him again and again and he may never return to power.”

“The world’s running out of heroes, Chief.”

“Why, I would think there is one right here with me.” The old man said with a twinkle in his eye.

“One last thing. Well, two if you want to be a pedant about it. I still want to know the truth about…”

“Still looking for the truth with single mind. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, Harry, and therefore I beg you to treat it with great caution. I owe you some now for what you have done, but I beg your forgiveness if I withhold some. I will not, of course, lie.”

“How did he get that way? Voldemort. I don’t want to know how to do it, but how do we fight someone that can’t be killed properly?”

Dumbledore removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion, “He was driven by a quest for power, Harry. An insatiable lust that was motivated by a fear of death. He used a means that is anathema to the essence of all life. That is all I can say.”

“When we were down there, Voldemort said he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him killing me. Did this have to do with that prophecy you mentioned?” Dumbledore coughed.

“I regret using that word, and I do believe that if I were to say any more now it would be a detriment to you, Harry.”

“Then why did Quirrell turn to sludge when I touched him?”

“Your mother died to save you. If there is something Voldemort cannot understand it is the selflessness of love. This is something old - ancient - before magic needed words to come into the world. This kind of magic is steeped within you down to your very soul and for Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and amoral ambition of two souls, he could not bear to touch you.”

Harry fumbled for his trench coat on the chair next to the bed whilst Dumbledore became very interested in a bird on the windowsill.

“You sent the cloak to me, didn’t you?” The Hammer asked, unfolding the note that had accompanied his Christmas present.

“Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession and I thought you might like it.” His eyes twinkled again, “Useful for many things… your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to nick food when he was here.”

“And something else…”

“Fire away.”

“Snape-”

“ _ Professor _ Snape, Harry.”

“Yeah, him. He was trying to help the whole time despite hating me. What did my father do to him? I figured out that much but he didn’t budge when I pushed him on it.”

“Well, they did detest each other. Your father did something Snape couldn’t bear to forgive.”

“What?”

“He saved his life.” Harry snorted.

“Funny… the way people’s minds work is a funny thing. Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt.”

“Chief,” Harry interrupted, “Would you thank Professor Snape for me? Tell him to let Potter rest. I already told him once that my father is Grant Mason.”

The ghost of a smile came to Dumbledore’s lips, “I will, Harry.”

“One more thing, Chief.”

“Hm?”

“What was the trick to getting the Stone out of the Mirror?” Dumbledore raised both of his eyebrows in mild surprise,

“Why Harry, I would have thought you would have pieced it together by now.”

“You’re supposed to want something other than the stone?”

“Not quite. I think it was one of my cleverer ideas, and between you and me, that’s saying something. You see, the rub was that you needed to want the stone for the stone’s sake, not to use it.”

“So since I just wanted to solve the mystery by itself, that counted as wanting the rock.”

“Indeed, Harry. Though I very much did not expect you to have taken the stone so soon and with such brazenness.”

“You would think that after my last few incidents you’d figure that’s just how it is with the Hammer.”

Dumbledore chuckled, “I believe that’s enough, Harry. You should make some headway into these sweets. After all, there are still the midterm exams to worry about and I’ll have to arrange a temporary professor to fill in for our very sudden loss of Defense Against the Dark Arts staff. Perhaps Professor Snape?” Harry grimaced. Dumbledore smiled, “Perhaps someone else then. And Harry -” Dumbledore set something weighty onto the end of the Hammer’s mattress, “Please refrain from using this on students or any other staff unless absolutely necessary.” He turned and left. The Hammer unwrapped the fist sized bundle at the end of his bed: it was the set of brass knuckles he had hit Quirrell with.

***

Nice as she was, Madam Pomfrey was a stickler for the rules.

“Absolutely not, no visitors.”

“Then I’m going to drag myself out of bed, stumble down the hall, and go see my friends. What’s the better option here, sister?” The Hammer was serious about it.

“Oh very well, but five minutes only.” She gave up and let Neville and Hermione in.

“Harry!” “Hammer!” The two rushed in, each taking a side of his bed.

“The whole school is talking about it! There’s so many rumours!” Neville spoke breathlessly.

“Sorry...?” The Hammer trailed off uncertainly.

“No, no, it’s amazing!” He was grinning ear to ear.

“What happened, Harry? You passed out and we couldn’t wake you but then suddenly the Headmaster was upon us. He picked you up and just like that we were all here.” Hermione told him.

He told them what he could remember and the things he and the Chief discussed.

“-and that’s about the gist of it. Are you two alright?”

“Yeah, not a scratch! After our spells bounced off Quirrell’s back there were a few moments there I was worried.” Neville said.

“Though, I wonder about the Headmaster…” Hermione trailed off.

“If we should trust him? I think he’s playing a bigger game than we are. It’s the game I want to play, but I don’t know that we can at our current level. We’ll have to trust him as being on the same side.” The Hammer played with the blanket covering his legs.

“I think he’s more than proven himself.” Hermione said.

“Hopefully you’ll be up and around again soon,” Neville plucked a few of his favourite candies from the pile, “We’ve still got the rest of the year to finish.”

“Me too. Now that we’ve solved the first big case here, I was thinking about starting up a detective agency for real. We’ll have to hunt down some space to use as an office.”

At the mention of more Hammer hijinks, Madam Pomfrey bustled over, “you’ve had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT.”

***

Hammer felt tremendously better after a good night’s sleep. Madam Pomfrey looked him over after bringing him a tray with breakfast and told him, “Once you’ve eaten, you have another visitor.” Harry practically shoveled the meal into his mouth, relishing in the plate full of a Full breakfast before washing it down with a mug of strong tea. Waving to Madam Pomfrey, she took the tray from him before opening the door to allow the visitor in.

Hagrid squeezed himself through the gap she had provided, looking too large for the interior of the castle, as was his habit. He took a seat next to Harry’s bed, under the creaking protest of the chair beneath him before bursting into tears.

“It’s - all - my - ruddy - fault!” He sobbed, his face in his hands. “Yeh told me he was plannin’ summat the whole time! Yeh could have died! All fer what? Secrets?”

“Hagrid!” The Hammer interrupted him, “He’d’ve done it anyway. He was working for Voldemort.”

“Yeh could’ve died!” Hagrid sobbed again, “An’ don’ say the name!”

The Hammer reached out and patted Hagrid on the knee before saying very clearly, “Vol-Deh-Mort.” Shocking Hagrid out of his crying, “I finally met the no good louse. I’m calling him by his name, maybe even a few other ones when I think of them. He didn’t win, so grab some sweets, help me finish this lot.”

Hagrid wiped his nose on his sleeve, “That reminds me, I’ve got yeh a present.”

“It’s not some black market magical creature is it? I’m terrible with pets.” Hagrid gave a weak chuckle, tugging at his collar,

“Nah, Hammer. Dumbledore gave me the other day off to get it together - anyway got yeh this…”

It was a handsome, leatherbound book with ornate metal corners. Opening it, the Hammer found it full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were James and Lily Potter.

“Sent owls off ter yer parents’ old school friends’ askin’ fer photos… Knew yeh’d have a time findin’ them. D’yeh like it?”

The Hammer had to grab his hat to hide his face behind it. Hagrid understood.

***

Madam Pomfrey let the Hammer go later that day after one final checkup. He still had to go and attend DADA for the day. In class he was greeted by enthusiastic whispers igniting a new round of rumours from his classmates. They were shushed by Professor Longbaugh who had drawn the short straw as the junior teacher on staff. “Yes, yes. The DADA position is cursed, I’m sure something terrible will happen to next year’s teacher as well since I’m not planning on covering two subjects at once. Now take a seat, Harry, and turn to page 287 in the text so we can finish learning about first-aid against a werewolf bite.”

Longbaugh’s lessons turned out to be radically more practical than Quirrell’s previous stutter-stumbling through theory textbooks. The room also smelled a lot less like garlic without Quirrell around.

In his hard earned free time, the Hammer began to walk around the castle again, stalking the grounds in search of a room to use as his office. He found a few that were in the running, but nothing that satisfied his desires. He wasn’t entirely sure what it all needed to have, but he was sure he wanted a slow spinning, creaky ceiling fan. One day, while pacing in front of a tapestry of trolls being taught ballet on the seventh floor, he noticed a new door he definitely didn’t remember seeing before.

Unlike all the other doors in the castle, it seemed to be a reasonably sized interior door with a smoky plate glass window in the upper half. Harry felt like he had seen it before somewhere. Feeling his heart pounding in his throat, the Hammer opened it up to find exactly what he was looking for. It was a small office scaled to his size - the room was darkly lit with a window covered in venetian blinds and an incandescent bulb hanging underneath a slowly spinning ceiling fan. His heart skipped a beat as he bounded inside and took a seat on the chair, putting his feet up on the desk. It was perfect.

The rest of the year passed by peacefully while the Hammer’s legend only grew. He had his suspicions that it was the Weasley twins helping to make up wild stories about the incident with Professor Quirrell and why the third floor corridor was suddenly no longer forbidden. It certainly was a boon - there were people wanting to ask him for his detective services thereafter.

Harry passed with excellent marks for the year and Neville had managed to pull in above average with tutoring from him and Hermione, but the Hammer was content with giving her the credit for that. She had come in at the top of their year, after all. The end of term feast was decorated in rich red and gold to celebrate a Gryffindor victory in the contest for the House Cup, which was an upset to Slytherin’s six year streak. The Hammer was looking forward to the food rather than the baubles of winning, but Hermione had sunken into a mood about the whole affair. She insisted that they should have been recognised with at least a few house points for their services to the school. Everyone knew they had been the ones to stop Voldemort, why shouldn’t they be the ones to reap the rewards?

The way Harry figured, he, Hermione, and Neville had been enough trouble for their houses and Slytherin was adept in getting in trouble on their own, so it was a fair shot at the odds.If he hadn’t been caught up in solving the mystery of the Cintamani Stone, Harry probably would’ve put money on it when the twins were playing bookie. After the meal, on the way back to their rooms to pack, Hermione kept on talking about how they should appeal the decision and try to get some more house points.

“Forget it, Hermione,” The Hammer said, “it’s Hogwarts.”

***

Before they knew it, the three of them were disembarking the Hogwarts Express at Platform 9 ¾. “Hammer, Hermione this is my Nan.” Neville introduced his friends to her on the magical side of the platform.

“Hermione Granger”

“Harry Potter-Mason. Call me the Hammer.”

“Augusta Longbottom. Neville, you never told me you were friends with  _ the _ Harry Potter. Why if you could only do as well as your parents you might be able to live up to the Longbottom name.”

“Lady, treat my friend here with some respect, would you? He’s saved my life at least three times now and that’s just the ones I remembered to count.” The Hammer laid into her. She was flustered into silence as their group crossed over onto the muggle side of King’s Cross station, the other two children finding their parents in the crowd and waving to them.

“Solve any good mysteries?” Grant asked him once they had cleared the crowd.

Harry smirked as his father ruffled his hair. He turned back for a final moment with Hermione and Neville.

“Hope you have a good holiday. Don’t forget to call!” Hermione told him with a hug. 

Neville shook his hand, a goofy grin on his face from how the Hammer had treated his grandmother, “Find a way to write, yeah? You should come over during the holiday.”

“Neville, Hermione, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”   



End file.
